


Be Brave Hearted And Sure Footed

by GashouseGables



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Abortion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, Brothels, Discussion of Abortion, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, I don't know the difference between colonial times and having a radio, Matchmaking, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of past spousal abuse, Mutual Pining, Other, Pining while married to eachother, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Twice Month Updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2019-07-04 21:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 69,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15850152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GashouseGables/pseuds/GashouseGables
Summary: Bella’s parents were dead and gone. At this rate, she wouldn’t have enough to even live to be a spinster. But the city of Forks needs brides. In the rain-soaked tiny logging town, there was a vast need for womenfolk, the fair few up there had died, left or were often night time-only visitors.Bella sends up an advertisement.Any woman seeking a husband must pay fare and rely on one Isabella Swan.Alice escaped from the asylum, and they’ll never get her back. But so far North? With ahusband? Such dreams were so sweet. There’d be a man up there for her, she knew. Even if there was one male nurse from the institute who would track her to the ends of the earth to make her his ….Rosalie was part of the best of the upper-crust. Until her fiance called off their engagement and didn’t even leave her with her virginity. She needed out of New York, away from her spineless family and somewhere green where she could heal ….Esme was a little too old for a husband. But a nurse, that she could do. Her baby died and her husband drank himself to debt and death. This was a clean, quiet slate.





	1. Ingenious

Bella sighed as she heard the yelling again. Another arrested citizen with no legal counsel being terrorised into submission.

Under her father’s steady, fair hand, this police office had been a beacon of justice in Arizona county. But now he was dead and gone, crushed under the same stagecoach as her mother. With Caius as the acting head, any way to get a conviction was the right way by him. He with his shady connections to some Volterran underground organisation. Its leader, Aro, and second in command, Marcus, constantly swanning in and out of the station with impunity.

Terrorising arrested citizens to coerce a confession, ‘loosing’ paperwork and witness statements, burying open ‘unsavoury’ cases and ensuring that none of this obstruction of justice reached the press.

It made Bella sick and guilty. But she couldn’t do anything; she was the typist, and she needed this job. Her parents may have loved her, but they certainly didn’t leave her a rich orphan.

Caius, as bored as he is stupid, walked past her, but stopped and came back.

“Now, what’s wrong apicula?” He asks, knowing full well his flaunting of the law tainted her late father’s reputation, and rattled her greatly.

She grunts and ignores him, focusing on filing a few more reports, while keeping a tedious log to remind these buffoons that consequences do indeed have actions.

The man looked very upset at the brush-off, he leaned further against her desk. “Now Isabelle, while I have you … I’m afraid things haven’t been working out lately.” Caius began, sugary sweet with disappointment. “I’m sure with grief over your late father, we’ve been more than fair … but unfortunately some of my men have had serious complaints; paperwork and confessions missing and whatnot ….” He added heavily.

Bella tried not to roll her eyes; as though attempting to keep these men honest to the law they claimed to uphold was so wrong. As though half the time, Caius himself wasn’t sweeping paperwork under the rug.

Caius glances away from this scolding, to mention a pretty young woman to stand next to him. She does, with a bubbly smile. “Bianca here is to train under you.” Caius informed Bella, with no small satisfaction. “I’m sure you’ll give her a thorough rundown of her duties here.” He added.

Bella stood, brushing off miniscule flecks of dirt from her skirts. “Unfortunately, that may be a problem, Caius,” she began, “as I plan on quitting by the end of the day. But, as per union guidelines, you’ve named my successor in advance, so you’re required to reimburse me for the full work day.” She informed him. It was worth it, to see the way his false smile slipped off of his face. This was no longer the good, hard-working force she grew up with; they had long been retired and replaced. She would not miss the warped corruption that had emerged.

 

Bella sat with a cooling coffee, in a grungy diner, later that day. She was all packed up and gone. This was not good, she had no form of income, no other experience and certainly wasn’t able to rely on her meagre savings for very long. There were the laundresses, doomed to a life of arms cracked and raw under the scalding water and chemicals, or the factories, with huge machines and her clumsiness. Lord knew how long she could last in those sorts of places …. They would be the very last resort. And not a path she was willing to walk without a fight.

Bella needed a plan, and Lord Almighty, was she bad at them. Dejected, she turned to the newspaper, it was a dinky thing that spoke about other parts of the country at an attempt of worldliness.

_What Happened To The Ladies Of Forks?_

_The logging town of Forks, Washington is something of a social experiment. How mad can men go, with none of the fairer sex to guide them?_

_There are little instances of womenfolk in this town, left for larger places or taken by a recent outbreak of disease. Already there is a high instance of savageness among locals, including clashes with indian tribes. The only fair few left were ladies of the night, and not the sort of company to be kept in polite circles._

Bella threw the paper down without reading any further. No mystery; a tiny rural town with no women due to sickness and migration. Causing the men to fall into chaos.

It seemed her whole life revolved around the constant failings of mankind. Her father’s clumsy attempts to appease her mother and mend their strained marriage, Caius’ particular brand of justice …. She glanced down at the paper once more, and frowned a little. She was suspicious of the plan forming in her mind. It was stupid, it was foolish… It was a risk, but she hadn’t much left to lose. The savings her parents left her were dwindling, though, and this could result in a steadier form of income.

She flipped to the back of the paper, where the postal information was printed. She grabbed up her pen and began drafting.

_One Isabella Swan seeks single women in want of a husband, to be taken to Forks Washington after a deliberation period …_

_Young matchmaker calling for able-bodied women with no spouse to be paired with those who may not be gentlemen …._

_Isabella Swan is in want of some wives …._

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. This was going to take some time indeed.

She thought carefully; these men needed women, and there were plenty in this city to be found. Not any ladies of the night, in any case, Bella wasn’t planning on opening a brothel. But if she could call upon women of middling breeding and opportunity, offering them something outside this vast desert …. Well, it would be worth a train ticket, surely?

A logging town in Washington. Washington was a very green, barely tame place. Bella could imagine, a small, pretty cottage next to giant trees, filled with books and every good thing …. It was a dream she’d had as a girl, baking in the Arizona sun. A private fantasy world; trees hundreds of years old, barely a soul to disturb her. Being able to write.

Invigorated, Bella took the napkin next to her coffee and a stub of a pencil she kept in her sleeve, and began to draft up a plan. The cost of a train ticket, and a zeppelin, as Forks was quite far …. These men would need to pay for their new wife’s accommodation on the way to them, as well …. And the fee Bella must charge, for having set up this endeavour …. This could work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is based off of something I once said to a friend. Thought I got it from a poem but now I can't find it.  
> Next chapter: the type of woman this ad appeals to.


	2. The Potential Candidates

Alice lived a very singular existence. She slept in the little room above the gown-and-fitting shop she worked at; her employer, Mrs. Webber, gave her a neat wage and marveled at her excellently tiny stitch work.  She could use the materials from the shop to make her own clothes too, and recently a woman admired the embroidered flowers on Alice’s pinafore, and requested that similar ones to added to the bodice of a dress she was altering.

Alice was able to live a simple life, speaking with the customers, and Mrs Webber and her daughter Angela, and no one was any the wiser that her strangely cropped hair wasn’t from an embarrassing lice incident, as she claimed, but a mental asylum.

They would never find her, not after her savior allowed her to escape; she was never going back. She heard footsteps at the door and shook her head of those awful thoughts.

Plus, today was a big, big day. Today the advertisement would come to her, and she would start on the path to the rest of her life. She had seen it in her dream last night; and she knew which type of dreams come true.

Two young women were giggling as they admired the different long, white gowns in the shop window. Alice looked at them enviously; taller than her and looking much more grown up for it. When they came into the shop, she perked up and put on a smile.

“Welcome, ladies!” She chirps, bustling after them on her shorter legs. “I believe you had an eye for our bridal options?” She prompted. Even saying the word bridal sounded strange in her mouth; but sent a girlish thrill through her. Being a bride sounded so mature and glamourous; she was ecstatic for every bride she dressed.

One of the girls smiles, and her whole face seemed to glow with happiness. “Yes, we’re both recently engaged. My ceremony is planned for summer,” she squeezes her friends arm, “and Kathleen’s for fall. What veils do you have on offer?” She asks.

“I’ll take you to them now,” Alice skips over to the counter with the fixed headpieces and waits as they coo over the choices. She felt a real stab of envy as they clutched at each other and laughed. She wanted a friend, too! Angela was a lovely girl, but she lived with her mother quite a way from the shop and had frequent social engagements.

Alice tuned back into the conversation when it seemed the veils no longer held the girls’ interest. “Oh, Samantha, did you see the paper?” Kathleen squealed. “That funny little advertisement!” Alice’s heart jumped to her throat, and she studiously avoided reacting too obviously.

“Auditioning for brides?” Samantha agreed, “How ridiculous!”

Kathleen glanced at Alice, caught her eye, and grinned. “Oh, let the shop-girl see!” She encouraged, and Alice perked up at her mention. Samantha’s handbag was dug around in, and a crumpled piece of paper procured.

Alice had it waved excitedly under her nose. “See here, this Ms Swan? What an outrageous claim!” They both laughed as Alice scanned the words hungrily.

She knew this. The words sprang to her mind fully formed.

_One Mrs I Swan seeking wives for the men of Forkes, Washington. Serious enquiries only for a meeting at the Wash Bearer’s Club Wednesday 18 th of this month at 7 pm._

Alice gasped. Tomorrow was Wednesday! “Oh, could you even imagine?” She whispers reverently. She ignores the two girl’s strange looks. “May I hold onto this?” She asks.

“… Of course. Um, we’ll let you know about the veils.” Kathleen said hesitantly, and they made their hasty leave. But Alice wasn’t mourning the loss of the sale. No, she had a meeting tomorrow.

 

Rosalie’s room was light and airy, decorated in yellows and pinks. She and her mother had poured over swatches and samples for three months to set up her room in their Arizona vacation home. She barely looked up from the comforter as her mother came in, set down her breakfast, and kissed her forehead.

She and Royce were going to spend their honeymoon here ….

Even thinking his name made her feel sick. Her mother had tittered on the phone to all her concerned social circle. _It’s such a shame that he broke the engagement! Now, I don’t want you blaming my Rose, she did the best she could!_

Hm, a shame. The way her father screamed at her like anything, the way all their friends had laughed. She woke one morning to her mother packing her bags. Their daughter’s virginity wasn’t worth upsetting her father’s employer, after all.

So, she was shunted to their Arizona summer house with her mother, to ‘heal her broken heart’, and until she agreed that it was better to say nothing and move on, she was not to come back to New York. Two months of anxious waiting to make certain that she wasn’t in the family way. If so, then all was not lost, according to the Hales.

But Rosalie didn’t care, she didn’t. What use were parties when the last one she went to, ended up with her being ravished by Royce King when she was sleeping? Why should she care what her idiot simpering friends thought, when all they had sent was a joint card?

Her only real friend left, Vera, was the only one who believed her when she said she’d been too drunk to agree to premarital sex. That she had woken up while being violated. It was Vera who admitted that everyone else wrote her off as too impertinent to wait for her wedding. They were all convinced she gave it up too soon, and was dumped for it.

Her mother settled onto the foot of her bed, sighing in a casual way. “Rosalie, dear, why don’t we go for a walk?” She asked. Thin, graceful and tall, Rosalie had always looked up to her mother. But one cannot blindly hero-worship forever. “The sun is out,” she continued airily, “so you’ll have to wear a hat, so as not to get too brown-”

She felt a flash of irritation. The idea of facing the outside world with a pleasant smile sickened her; made her light-headed and shaky. She refused to chalk it up to the baby that might be in her belly

 Like she could stand to walk next to her beguiled mother and put on a front. “Enough with your insipid chatter; leave me be.” Rosalie snapped.

Her mother stared at her for a long while, her jaw clenched tightly. “… Rosalie, what good would sprouting off that nasty story about Royce prove?” The older woman finally asked, her gaze on the faded, outdated rug. “You were _engaged_ ,” her mother stressed, “and if you had just waited until your honeymoon-”

Rosalie shot up in bed, “It’s not a _story_!” She shouted, her heart thundering in her chest.

“Enough, Rosalie!” Her mother declared, standing up and towering over her daughter. Looking so much like a withered, gnarled tree. “You’re too much a child to understand, but you’ll face facts soon enough.” She said softly. Rosalie stared at this woman; who hosted parties, raised children, run her own home … who was once the epitome of everything Rosalie wanted to be. Who cowered and shut away her own daughter so as not to cause a stir.

Visibly, the woman relaxed her long limbs, and tried again. “… It’s nice to be away from your father and the boys, isn’t it? Just us womenfolk.” She commented lightly, her voice floating strangely on top of the tension in the room.

“Am I child or a woman?” Rosalie muttered, “Make up your damn mind, but do it outside.” She added.

Her mother looked like she wanted to scold her, but thought better of it, and simply left after curtly telling her she would be back for the dishes.

When the door closed, and Rosalie was left on her own, she shoved a hand under her pillow and pulled out the paper from two days ago.

She had to find out where on earth the Wash Bearer’s Club was.

 

Esme was tired and frustrated to tears. Her school was being shut down; the donors had backed out, and now her children would be taken to harsher high education, or, as most of them couldn’t afford it, the factories.

The headmaster, over-worked and frazzled, admitted this to the staff just this morning. Esme had not been the only one there to shed a tear. She moved from Ohio, her parents disowned her for leaving her husband, even after he died, and eight years later her dream of being a teacher was over.

Esme had thought that after Charles’ death, she was free, free to do what she’d always wanted; teach. She had lost their baby, she’d lost her husband, one of them she mourned more than the other. But she’d had her students, her brilliant pupils. Esme was sure that this was healing, her life was getting back on track.

She had no actual qualifications; the principal had seen her zeal for education and genuine commitment and taken her on. It was grueling work; long hours, hardened children and not a lot in way of pay. But Esme had taken each hard day and worked even harder to make the next one better. Some of the children, even most of them, grew a little, or a lot, under her care. She thought she was making a difference.

Now Esme was lost, adrift, bereaved for the bright, young minds about to be turned to dangerous factory work or violence that would strike a child and call it teaching. She had no friends or connections to rely on; she left them all in Columbus, and she wasn’t deluded enough to think they’d have her back.

She smooths her hands over the paper, and looks at the employment section, and to the advertisements too. She needed a fresh start, she needed choices. Was she really going to trust this woman to find her a husband, after what the first one did to her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else did you think would turn up?
> 
> Next chapter: the Wash Bearer's Club


	3. Wash Bearer's Club

The Wash Bearer’s Club was a women’s hunting group founded by three wives and mothers who, under the guise of taking their laundry out to dry or be washed, stuffed guns at the bottom of the tub, left the tubs, and went shooting. They were rough, fierce and very friendly. They had found it uproariously funny when Bella asked to use their rooms for her meeting. Some had stuck around to see what type of woman would show up.

 

Alice was very excited as she skips into the Wash Bearer’s Club. It looked more like a saloon than a women’s club, but Alice didn’t let it deter her. Though there weren’t very many women here yet, which did make her pause a little. There were four large, boisterous women at the bar; and if they were all not large in stature, they were still large to Alice. She was watched with some amusement, or surprise, as she faltered in the doorway.

“Are you here for Ms Swan’s meeting?” A warm voice asked her. Alice glanced to a tucked-away table, and saw a kindly woman, slightly older, who had a pile of knitting in her lap. Alice could have squealed with excitement. “I do like your coat.” The woman added, after Alice didn’t reply.

Alice had seen disjointed bits and pieces of this already in her dreams. This woman would be her friend! She’ll meet Esme, and Rosalie and her letter will be for Jasper.

She shakes herself from her stupor, and firmly reminds herself not to throw herself at the woman with a huge hug. Instead, she ducks her head and steps closer to her. “Thank you very much, I’m Alice, Mary Alice.” She says, and shakes the woman’s hand.

“Esme Evenson, it’s lovely to meet you dear.” She said, putting down her knitting to shake. Alice sits when Esme motions for her to, and tries not to angle her chair too closely to Esme. “May I ask why such a pretty young woman would need such a service?” Esme asked, her tone teasing not certainly not flippant.

Alice shrugs airily. “Oh, it’s how I’ll found my way,” Alice tells her vaguely. “It’s how I always knew I would find my way ….” She added softly, her own thoughts hazy with recollections of events that haven’t yet transpired.

Esme, though, raises her eyebrows and smiles lightly, ignoring the girl’s far-away look. “Such confidence.”

“Why are you here?” Alice asks her, propping her chin in her hand on the table to look at the woman. Esme looks startled at the forward question.

“Hm,” Her focus returns to her knitting, “well, after you lose a husband, a baby and a job, you go where opportunity strikes.” She lists them off dispassionately, but her fingers pluck at the stitches of the half-made scarf.

Alice shakes her head. This woman seemed kind, and she seemed steady. In Alice’s wildly convoluted, yet short life, steady was hard to come by and very treasured. “I don’t think that’s all there is to you!” Alice declared, which makes Esme smile and her ears go pink, as she reminds her to keep her voice down.

 

 

Rosalie scowls at these drab women, in this drab parlour, after she strides into the room. She feels everyone’s eyes turn to her, and for a moment she wonders if it had been wise to wear her semi-best purple frock. It made her stand out, which she usually enjoyed. But at the moment, she felt scrutinised and … a little frightened.

“Oh, _she_ looks lovely!” A high, lilting voice gushes, and Rosalie turns just so to see the little thing that had said it.

It bolsters her confidence enough to sit right in the middle of room, so everyone could see her. She was Rosalie Hale, and nobodies in this desert shanty town could stare all they wanted.

She was used to it, and she certainly didn’t care. She hands tightened in her lap, her elbows tucked tightly against her side, but only because it was just slightly irritating. Women tended to be so very false; sure, Rosalie had had her sewing circle of socialites before _Royce_ … but they’d turned their backs on her as quickly as they could afterwards.

Rosalie didn’t need friends, in fact, she didn’t even need a husband. What she needed was a way out.

 

Fifteen women arrived. Bella greeted them all and directed them to seats. They quieted as she began to walk to the front of the room; doing her best to stride confidently. But her foot knocked into her other ankle and she stumbled a little. A titter went up among the girls, and Bella felt her entire head flush bright red. Taking just a moment to collect herself, Bella made it to the front and readied herself to deliver the speech she’d been crafting all day.

“Hello ladies,” She began grandly, “I trust your trip here was safe …. I’m Isabella Swan, and I’d like to thank you all for your sense of adventure.”

Bella breathed in, and smiled. The first words out of her mouth were met with nothing but silence and impassive faces. She didn’t let it dishearten her; thinking of a green oasis and her house – a library.

“Before we start, those of you not _serious_ about this enquiry better leave now.” Five left, giggling as they did, and Bella shook off their mockery. She had expected some spectacle, after all. “Now, these men are in desperate need of society, and I’ve spoken with the mayor and the chief of police; they’re confident that womenfolk are the answer.” She informed them. This incited chortles from the Washbearers, but when she glanced behind her, they only maternally shooed her to continue. “Now, I can’t promise that this will be easy, it’s a long, tough trip, and there’s a lot of work to do when we get there.” She said honestly.

One girl, her thin shoulders hunched over, managed to raise a hand. Bella nodded at her. “How would we get there?” She asked quietly.

“A zeppelin, primarily, we will need to make a transfer from a train.” Bella told her. She’d done the calculations herself, echoed and approved of by the Mayor in their exchanges.

This one questions seemed to bring on a barrage of others. Another girl waved her hand. “Why would you be coming?” She asked, tone nearly accusatory. “Wouldn’t your duties end after matching us up?”

“I’ll be there to ensure that _you_ get there.” Bella informed her. “Now, I’m not going to judge your characters, but it would be my duties to see you all off safely to your new lives.” She explained. She certainly wasn’t going to be accused of swindling men for women that decided to miss their flights.

“What if the man is not acceptable when we get there?” Another woman piped up.

“That’s up to your discretion.” Bella replied. “You will exchange letters through the post for a few months; I initially planned for six. You will be paired up through me; I’ve several letters of introduction currently.”

“What if the spoken word does not measure up to what was written?”

“Well,” Bella shrugged, “there’s always a risk in any marriage, why do you think I’ve avoided them?” She asked, and that got a polite tittering in response. But, she allowed, such a sentiment hardly instilled confidence in her endeavour.

Bella stands at the door as the women write out their applications. A few of them leave the pages blank, shaking their heads as they walk past her, and Bella doesn’t let it affect her. Let them leave, the journey would be long and taxing, she’d rather keep those who were prepared.

Bella tried not to look over the women’s shoulders; but she was extremely curious as to how they were getting on. She passed by an older woman, who had been one of the first to arrive. She had been joined by a younger one. “Esme, what are you writing about your situation, if I may ask?” The younger woman, her voice high and curious, asked. “It would sound strange, to seek a husband through some letters!” She giggled, and Bella turns her head away and ignored the comment. She chose to be here, after all.

 

Alice giggles as she looks to Esme for a little assistance. She had no clue how she was to start such an auspicious letter.

Esme seemed unfazed as she wrote. “Oh, dear, well, I’m not too fussed about the husband part.” The older woman replied. “I had one, once, who drank himself away, I’m not so worried how these overtures would seem.” She replied, her green eyes slipping over to Bella, who quickly busied herself not looking as though she was eavesdropping. “Miss Swan did say she already had a few letters from the men, I think it would be best to be sure to portray who you really are.” She added.

Alice wasn’t at all happy with this. “… Was having such a husband difficult?” She asked, her tone cautious, and innocent.

Esme hummed in thought. This was hardly a topic to dwell on with a stranger. “I hardly remember … I know losing the baby was very much harder than losing the husband.” They both seemed to feel uncomfortable at the awkward pause between the two of them. “I’ve said too much, I’m sorry.” Esme added softly.

“No, I don’t want to pry ….” Alice replied, a little dejected.

There’s a throat-clearing behind her, and Alice turns around to see the striking blonde who came a little after she did. Wearing such a wonderful dress.

“Your coat is very well-made.” The woman said carefully.

Alice glanced down at it, pleased. “Thank you! I work at Mrs & Miss Weber Alterations.” Alice explained. Angela was actually here, with a few of her friends, but had only given Alice a nod. It hadn’t given Alice enough confidence to sit with her, though Esme was good company.

The newcomer stands, uncertain, and Esme almost smiles at the girl’s thinly-veiled nerves.

“You should sit, dear.” Esme tells her evenly.

Nodding, the young woman quickly pulled up a chair, as the other women had scattered into other groups, and gave a nod. “I know of the store.” She told Alice, and shuffled her own papers a little. Alice glanced down, and frowned at something else the girl was holding.

“What have you there?” She asked.

The woman held it up for inspection. “One of my pictures. It wasn’t taken too long ago.” She said, her voice cautious. She was made up in the image; her hair coiffed and lips red. But it still looked very much like her; strikingly beautiful.

Alice gaped at the other girl’s forward-thinking, and Esme took the silence to offer a hand. “Esme, dear, and Mary-Alice, who might you be?” She asked pleasantly.

“Rosalie Hale.” She replied and shook just once.

“I didn’t even _think_ of a picture!” Alice exclaimed, and grabbed up her papers again. “I’ll draw myself, maybe that will do ….” She muttered aloud.

“I’m sure it doesn’t matter yet, dear.” Esme assured her, but the short girl had stopped listening, hunched over her papers with determination. Esme didn’t seem bothered, and smiled at Rosalie instead. “I must say, the prettiest young ladies seem all too eager for a mysterious match than I’d expect.” She said gently, and Rosalie inclined her head at the compliment. “Perhaps you have a sense of adventure? Or romance?” The woman suggested teasingly.

“Surely not anymore,” Rosalie informed her coldly, “I simply need … this town is droll and dusty.” She said shortly, as though she had just reached a decision, mouth tight.

Esme doesn’t pry, but she looks at Rosalie a touch longer than the blonde is willing to hold her gaze.

 

Over the course of the next few minutes, the women begin to filter towards the door, where Bella stands guard, handing over their papers and bidding her good-bye. Bella accepts them all with a polite thank you, and soon, there are only three from her meeting left.

The very small, very pretty woman nearly floating towards Bella, she was so graceful. Bella felt heavy and even more clumsy in comparison. At first, she was suspicious as to the woman’s real age, but as she came closer Bella could see that she was indeed an adult.

Her face was delicate and impish, and her glossy hair short and pinned in a debonair style. Her coat was a light blue, with a beautiful white embroidery, and her grey hat, purse and gloves matched the shade of her shoes.

The woman shook her hand when handing in her application and introductory letter. “Hello, I’m Alice,” She said cheerfully. Bella smiled, and took the forms. “I’m so excited about this! I’ve already addressed my letter!” She said brightly. Bella was stunned that such a pretty woman would even need her services, but she certainly wasn’t going to turn her away. Then the last part of her sentence registered.

“What do you mean, addressed?” Bella asks, and Alice nodded down to the envelope, where the word ‘Jasper’ was written neatly. “Um, I’m sure you will forgive me, but I have not taken such a thorough inventory of the potential men, I don’t remember if there was one named Jasper ….” Bella heard herself saying, but she was honestly stunned. Why would she do this? How on earth was Bella supposed to give an already addressed letter to a man?

Alice just laughs, and shrugs lightly, as though her actions were so mundane. “If his name is Jasper, he’s mine. It’s not so hard to understand.” The tiny woman said with a twinkle in her large brown eyes.

Bella was affronted and extremely confused, and planned to toss the envelope away and put the letter in a new, blank one. She manages a smile though, and Alice actually kisses her cheek in parting. The intimacy unnerves Bella. She watches her almost dance out of the building, so very elegantly, and snaps her attention back as she feels a touch on her arm.

A much plumper, slightly older woman hands her the papers with a kind thank you. Bella recognised her voice as the woman with the husband and baby no longer, and feels her chest tighten badly and her arms tingle. Bella accepts her papers, thanks her for coming and doesn’t meet her gaze.

While Alice had been exceedingly pretty, the woman that strode up to her next was absolutely gorgeous. Long, blonde hair, quite tall, and impeccably dressed; in a bold, purple dress and a hat with a veil. She blinked her outrageously blue eyes and Bella gasped as the papers were slapped into her hand.

“I’ve added a tintype to better promote myself, and the rest of the girls by association. You’re welcome, Miss Swan.” The haughty blonde said, and left without letting Bella reply. She found herself stood there, staring after this incredibly beautiful, mean woman.

Bella spends the next hour rearranging the Wash Bearer’s club, and thanking the sturdy women for allowing her the time. They chatter and laugh, and thank her for entertaining them with her foolish ideas. Bella doesn’t let their light mockery affect her; she had her plans, and she trusted them, mostly.

* * *

 

_Dear Jasper,_

_I surely cannot wait to meet you! Must bring with you an umbrella when you greet me at the mooring mast._

_Presently, I work as a seamstress. I cook, clean and tend home well enough. Can draw and sew much better. Shall bring you a present from the city, if you would like. Was thinking suitcases; in case we travel. A comely design for a young man, and for my trip to you I can stash my clothes in them!_

_Hope you’re feeling very well. Hope you have good dreams. Enclosed my hatpin as a token of my affection. Picture of myself drawn on the back of this paper. Be well, I beg you._

_Yours truly,_

_Alice_

 

_To whom it may concern,_

_Esme Evenson, thirty-four years of age. Worked as school-teacher for two years, very dedicated. Am very well with children and livestock. Daughter of carpenters and brick-layers, begotten skills in house-making. Have tended small vegetable plots for personal use._

_Not shy of hard work or blood. Frightened of snakes._

 

_Kind regards,_

_Esme E._

 

_To my future intended,_

_My name is Rosalie Lilian Hale, debuted two summers ago, in Manhattan, New York. I expect to receive letters of introduction from intended parent-in-laws._

_I am not religiously inclined; and loathe all manner of sermons, will not attend prayer circles, only Sunday and Holiday church._

_I cannot stand to live near a road of heavy traffic, too loud and disruptive._

_Prefer to attend parties with cards and billiards, but will suffer occasionally through recitals, if musician is deft with instrument. Must be personally introduced to and by Master of Ceremonies at the door._

_I can ride a horse, but it must be of good temper and calm. No ponies or volatile stallions._

_Enclosed is my tintype, made last fall. A mistake on behalf of the photographer was made with my pose; the sleeve falls oddly. In person both arms are of same length._

 

_Faithfully,_

_R. L. Hale_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to brag but I think the Wash Bearer's Club is the coolest thing I've ever thought of.
> 
> Next chapter: the type of man that seeks a matchmaker


	4. First Letters

Bella sat at her desk at home, sometime later, and read through the applications. Many were blank; she had but five women. But, she refused to let this deter her; she’s made the arrangements, and she followed through when she made promises.

She turned her attention to the letters from the men. The first one was written well by an even hand, but so cramped and close together, it took her quite some time to read it.

_Dear Ms Swan,_

_Salutations. My name is Carlisle Cullen, the doctor and pastor of our town. I do not particularly find myself in need of a wife, but a nurse and receptionist for my medicinal clinic. This woman will work very closely to me in my personal, spiritual and professional life, as I do need a softer touch in my household, for my son. She will be provided a small flat on my land and $5 a wk._

_This woman must have experience with the sick and little attachment to sleep. It is sleepy enough here, but we are growing this town amid the green wilderness; animal attacks, squabbles and logging accidents are quite common. Send no starry-eyed girls or timid home-keepers. Must be Protestant and diligent._

_Kindest regards,_

_C Cullen_

Bella flicked through her applications idly, but had already chosen Ms Evenson. After hearing her terribly sad story, she wouldn’t want to give any grooms such heavy shattered dreams to shoulder. It wouldn’t be fair to these men to hand over used brides, after all. Besides, her application had mentioned her mother being an army nurse, surely that was knowledge passed down to her daughter. Bella’s own mother had taught her how to ride a horse; for all the good it did her clumsiness.

The next letter was written in an elegant script, and Bella was slightly taken aback by the beautiful penmanship.

_To one Isabella Swan,_

_Need of a wife, or a housekeeper. Am a farmer, as such, she must wake and sleep early. Must be able to ride a horse. Must be stout and able to help with saddle repairs. Must be self-sufficient. Must be good with animals and bodily fit. Must not fear disfigured persons._

_Sincerely,_

_Maj. Jasper Whitlock_

Bella gasped aloud when she read the name at the end. Alice had requested that she give her Jasper, and Bella had planned to give her any man that sounded the most suitable. She’d claim that was his middle name, even if she had to write the ‘J’ in herself, and feign ignorance when they got there. But this man was _actually_ named Jasper. Even if Bella could never describe immaculately-dressed, impish Alice as stout or blind to appearances, she had a feeling that intuitive little woman would know if she’d been stiffed. So she passed him on and washed her hands of the matter.

Another letter from the whole-goods store owner, a Mr Newton; he got Lauren, who seemed the most dubious of Bella’s operation. A storeowner seemed dependable enough. And a Mr York, who ran the local paper, got Jessica, who had spent the whole meeting gossiping about every other attendee.

The next letter was written with such chicken-scratch Bella wanted to retire early and not have to read it at all. 

_Miss Swan,_

_Come from a logging family. Reside with parents and five siblings out of town, with three siblings in town. We work hard and are loyal to each other. Need a sturdy wife, not at all fussy and not at all homely._

_McCarty_

Bella frowned at this, more than a little insulted on behalf of plain women like her everywhere. ‘Not at all homely’ well! She’d give him the prettiest girl Bella had ever seen, and good luck to him! Rosalie it was. It would cost Bella extra to send the bulky tintype as well, which irritated her.

She wrote introductory letters to them all, and went to bed early.

 

 

 

###  **First Response**

**  
**

Esme was doing some shopping; counting over and over her coins and what she could make of it for this week. It wasn’t much, and she was so preoccupied with how much; she ran straight into a woman.

Esme gasps and took a step back, looking somewhere around the woman’s chin, as she was quite tall. Obviously finely dressed, which made Esme feel shabby and down at heel. “Oh! I’m sorry!” Esme said, ducking her head, and moving to the side to step past her.

“Esme, wait,” It was Rosalie’s voice, and Esme was so surprised; she glanced up quickly and saw the woman frowning down at her. For a moment, Esme’s thrown. This grand girl was a strange sight in a place like this; there was a flicker of a comment Esme remembers making, about cheaper places and her own shopping.

“These markets are not very good. They sell older produce here.” Rosalie told her loudly, getting dark looks some several vendors that overheard her.

Esme flushed a little, embarrassed, and laughed tightly. “That suits me just fine dear, I’ve no-one to impress.” She told her.

Rosalie blinks, and glances down at the coin purse Esme had clutched to her chest. Realisation flickers in her eyes, and Esme carefully refuses to be ashamed. “Oh.” Rosalie replied shortly, and Esme wishes desperately to cut this short.

Esme nods past Rosalie, to the rest of the markets, and begins to step around her. “If that’s all, dear-”

“Ah, no.” Rosalie said, stepping quickly again in front of Esme. “Miss Swan sent out the replies.” Rosalie told her, a crease in her brow. She looked very determined, though Esme was clueless as to why.

“Yes, I received mine this morning.” Esme agrees. She had opened it while eating some canned peaches for breakfast. It had reminded her that she needed groceries.

Rosalie lightly bit her lower lip, and glanced away. “I want … counsel.” Rosalie admitted carefully. Esme felt some sort of fondness at the girl’s obvious affected attitude. “Can I take you to see if Alice is in that shop?” Rosalie asks her quietly. “After your shopping,” she added.

Esme looked at the nervous girl’s face, and smiled. “Well, it’s at a loss today, I suppose.” She considered easily, and mentioned Rosalie to come to her. Rosalie sided up to her and linked their arms firmly. “We can go now.” She agreed, and Rosalie led the way out of the markets. Esme was amused as they reached fresh air; such a confidently-spoken young lady, who was too nervous to ask for company.

 

Alice received a telegram from Miss Swan eight days after the meeting. It came as a shock to her, as Alice had dreamt the telegram the night after the meeting, and so had passed the next week in a bit of a haze as to the current date and time.

She always got slightly muddled when she saw her prophetic dreams; it made her wary and uncertain of how time passed when she was awake. But she’d had a very full sleep last night; she’d seen all kinds of things that could may well happen today!

But, Alice had the telegram _now_ , which meant she could very well meet Esme for coffee and go over their answering letters! She couldn’t _wait_ for dear Rosalie to ask them both to that darling café!

She hummed a little, and glanced up just as the door opened. It was Rosalie, striding in proudly, with Esme trailing in sedately behind her.

“Hello, girls!” Alice chirped cheerfully, thrilled they’d come so soon. Esme smiled and waved, and Rosalie nodded, while glancing around.

“We’re truly far from New York ….” Rosalie informed them quietly, eyeing a particularly plain dress with distaste.

“I have almost finished,” Alice told her, already excited.

Rosalie sighed a little as she plucked up the sleeve of the dress she hated and let it fall back. “Good, we’re going to a café, one of my favourites here. Ms Swan has finally sent through the responses.” Rosalie informed them.

“If you’d like to join us, dear.” Esme added, her tone stern but very amused. Rosalie pretended not to hear, and Alice agreed enthusiastically.

Alice offered to introduce Esme and Rosalie to Mrs Weber, but both declined; Esme because she didn’t wish to bother her, and Rosalie because she thought the woman’s clothes were hideous.

They waited outside, under Esme’s parasol, while Alice bid Mrs Weber goodbye when the woman came to relieve her.

Rosalie led them to the darling shop Alice had already seen, and they were led to a table almost immediately.

-

The café wasn’t one Esme could very well afford, and ordered only a small cup of tea to tide her by. But these young women seemed to be enjoying themselves, in their own way. Rosalie motioned for the waitress and ordered a small platter of sandwiches for the table, while Alice requested a slice of chocolate cake.

“I’m getting my wages tomorrow,” Alice explained with a grin. Esme nodded, and for a moment, felt a bit nostalgic. Sitting with these girls reminded her of her youth, before she married. She would take a few friends, and order ices to eat while tromping through the streets in step, seeking something entertaining. She felt glad, sitting with these girls now; it was refreshing to have company again, that weren’t equally-stressed and underpaid teachers of a floundering school.

“… she’s paired me with a farmer, or a woodworker,” Rosalie said heavily. “So many spelling mistakes. I’ll have to speak with her about a change.” She added, making it very obvious she was not pleased with a blue-collar worker.

Esme, who had been raised almost well by a blue-collar man, felt slightly insulted. Until she remembered her late father had disowned her, and then she wasn’t sure if she had the right to feel anything about it at all.

Alice nodded, though she’d gotten her cake and was licking the icing off her fork. Esme bit back the urge to remind Alice of her manners. She wasn’t the girl’s mother and it would make her seem old. Older than she already was compared to these girls.

“Jasper!” Alice said with satisfaction. “I have Jasper.” She repeated, looking dreamily off into the distance.

Rosalie looked to Esme after Alice didn’t pay anymore attention. She petted her breast, where she’d tucked the letter into her collar. “Ms Swan has found me a position as a nurse, I believe.” Esme told them, she wasn’t entirely sure of what the position would detail; the man’s hand was abysmal.

“But not a husband?” Rosalie asked sharply, her tone disapproving.

Esme shakes her head lightly. “I don’t need one of those again.” She admitted honestly.

“I want one, I do,” Alice says quickly, her focus returned and her big eyes bright. Esme smiles indulgently at her; such a little, sweet and odd thing.

Rosalie hums and sips her coffee. “As do I …” She mutters, certainly not convincingly, she almost sounded sarcastic. But the sandwiches arrive, and Rosalie plates a few for each woman before she could protest. Though Esme does try and politely decline. “Don’t be rude; I’m hosting.” Rosalie told her, and Esme had to bite back a laugh over the girl’s stern expression. Like having a tea party with a little girl who was constantly spoilt, and so didn’t take ‘no’ well.

“Well, alright then.” Esme agrees, and thanks her for the plate.

“Rosalie, what kind of husband do you want?” Alice asked, after thanking her for her own selection of sandwiches.

Rosalie looked bored with the question, and said with a careless air; “A good one.” It was a generic answer, similar to what Esme used to list off when her head was full of travelling the world.

“Then that’s what you’ll get!” Alice decided, and Esme chuckled at her exuberance.

Esme sipped her tea and told Rosalie; “There’s no telling that a hard-working man can’t make a good husband.” She didn’t want the young, obviously wealthy girl to write-off a man based on his profession. They were going to a quite undeveloped place, after all.

“Did yours?” Rosalie asked her archly, but Esme continued sipping and did not reply. Rosalie reminded her of the battered, bright girls that had once sat in her classroom. Those who were guarded and fierce and painfully, delicately young. “… Though, I suppose well-bred men aren’t always so good.” Rosalie amended in the silence, slightly gruff.

Alice’s far-away gaze flickered over them both. “Mine will be good.” She said breathlessly, intensely. In the calm and bright afternoon, it was an eerie, ill-placed attitude. “I know it.” She murmured.

Esme nodded slowly, almost cautious. “… I’m glad for you.” She told the girl. Alice also reminded her of a select few girls she’d known of; the ones when broken, broke forever. And Esme hoped this man _was_ good, for Alice’s sake.

 

Alice felt giddy as she bid the other women good-bye, late that afternoon. She hadn’t wanted to be rude with her new friends, but she was so frightfully excited to read her telegram.

[M Alice]

[Please answer in letter - ability to ride a horse, swim and drive. Please enclose bootlaces tied in Theodore knot halter.] 

[J Whitlock]

Alice read it twice and turned it over, but there was nothing else …. She was disappointed, and a little hurt. She had hoped to get something fonder. But it was _him_ , and she so loved it. She gave it a kiss, her red lipstick leaving its mark on the page. Seeing her kiss satisfied her.

She shook her head, and didn’t let her expectations deter her. He would be fond of her soon enough!

_Dear Jasper,_

_Thank you for the telegram! Have been looking forward to your response all week.  Have picked out two different suitcase designs and have enclosed the magazine cuttings for your perusal. Shall send away for them promptly._

_I cannot ride a horse well, cannot drive a wagon. Cannot go very fast. Perhaps a trot on a pony. Can swim very very well, and dive very deeply, dislike fishing._

_I made a coat for a gentleman who told me young men now wish for pleats at the vent of the back. I immediately thought of you, and I will mend your coats to fit the style. No doubt you would look much more handsome than he did._

_Hoping that you are eating and sleeping well. Thinking of you often._

_Yours entirely,_

_Alice._

Now, she had to find out what a Theodore knot was.

 

[Rosie H]

[Pleased to receive tintype very comely. Near no loud roads, near no church. Must go for christenings and funerals. Mother sent letter to days past. Must be able to swim. Extremely comely tintype.]

[Emmett M]

Rosalie flicks her eyes over the telegram lazily. She was sitting in the parlour at home, after a surprisingly enjoyable afternoon. Her mother was almost limp with happiness at her outing, and had tottered off happily when Rosalie claimed she was answering correspondence from friends in Rochester. No doubt the willowy woman thought her daughter was on the mend.

She almost wished she was, because the telegram was irritating her. This told her _nothing_. She knew she was pretty and she was used to men appreciating it. She needed something substantial from this man!

She had used her best stationary set to write her first letter, and it was an awful lot of effort for nothing. But she pulled it out again, for her reply.

 

_To Mr McCarty,_

_Thank you for your detailed telegram, it was much appreciated and obviously carefully delivered._

_I can swim quite well, and do enjoy sea bathing. I once went sailing on behest of a friend, do not care for it. I became very seasick. I cannot stand sand where it does not belong. I cannot lie down in a bath until after I have rinsed the sand off and will not be persuaded otherwise._

_I will eat fish if seasoned properly; but only with lemon. I enjoy picking over shells, unless there is an awful little creature in it. Then someone must take it far away from me, I detest them._

_I enjoy walking along the shore very much. I hope the seas side at Forks allows for long walks._

_Who are you?_

_Sincerely,_

_Rose L. Hale_

 

[Pleasure. Must be in possession of steady hands. Must detail experience with wounds. Please enclose stitch-work sample in answering letter.]

[Dr C Cullen]

Esme sat in her little, cramped apartment, and glanced at her flicking candle. It was one of the few she had left, and she needed the light to write well. It had been a wonderful afternoon with the girls, but they’d lost track of time and Esme was worried soon it would be too dark for her to see properly. Her room only had one window and it was not near any streetlamps.

_To Pastor Cullen,_

_Thank you for your telegram. My first experience with a major injury was my father’s arm, cut by a slip with a saw. The wound was deep, and I was entrusted to apply even pressure to halt the bleeding. Was able to keep my father conscious until the doctor arrived._

_The second injury was my own; I fell from a tree and broke my leg. I was very curious and attentive to the process used to set it right._

_I have preformed infant CPR. I was able to keep the child breathing for twenty minutes, but it was not able to do so on its own. I have also stitched up several lacerations one-handed or with limited visuals. Enclosed are several examples, with cross-stitching of the wound open beside it._

_Kindest regards,_

_Evenson._

No pastor needed to know the lacerations were her own; tended to late at night in the bathroom, holed up from the world. No pastor needed to know the infant had been her own; frantic and screaming for help when her baby turned blue.

Regardless, the memories hurt her heart, and she sealed the envelope and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had entire fake telegrams and everything and now I can't even change the font. Will update with link to them to show off soon. Next chapter: one more letter from someone new and a dream.


	5. A Man With A Flower Crown, A New Mother's Letter, Among Others

_Jasper sat on the porch steps as Alice fussed above him. She was threading flowers into his hair, that she had picked as they walked back from town. The walk had been calm, Jasper would stand in wait by the road as Alice scurried down to whatever field had flowers she liked. Every time she left the road, he’d wait until her hand slipped from his at the very last stretch of their arms, and as soon as he saw her, he’d hold out his hand again._

_The other was gripping his cane tightly; his knee was giving him trouble today. He didn’t seem to mind the frequent stops, and Alice coincided them with when he started to puff with exertion. She’d collected a very pretty bouquet on their way._

_She tucked a few purple blooms into her neckline while she worked. His hair fell around his ears, and it was enough for thin, tiny braids to thread the flowers stems through._

_“You’ll have me attracting bees.” Jasper told her, and his tone was amused._

_Alice shrugs. “You don’t know that. Maybe you’ll be more alluring to butterflies.” She suggests._

_“Just as worse.” Jasper says lightly. “I only want to be alluring to you.”_

_Alice likes what he said very much, and she runs her hands through the locks she hadn’t decorated; pressing the tips of her fingers into the skin behind his ears, and rubbing little circles into it. He hummed, and she knew he was just as content as she was._

 

When Alice woke, her heart felt full to bursting, like it always was when she dreamt of Jasper. She scrabbles for a piece of paper. It was the yellow cardstock Mrs Weber didn’t need, and let Alice keep.

Grabbing up her pencil, she began to sketch, using the light from the lamp at the end of the shop sign that streamed into her window. Usually it irritated her; it made her feel like a spotlight, or an eye, were shining on her bed. But now, she couldn’t be more thankful for it.

The sturdy wooden rails of the porch were the easiest to draw. Inexplicably, sketching his strong back and broad shoulders made her hands shake, and it took all her sleepy, frenzied effort to line each flower and lock of his hair.

She thought she only worked on the sketch for an hour. But by the time she was finished, she looked up and saw that it was half-way through her day off. Slightly disorientated, Alice still smiled. It hadn’t been a waste, after all.

 

Rosalie woke to a letter. It was from Forks, addressed to her specifically. Her mother brought it with her breakfast, and puzzled over it endlessly. Rosalie just plucks it from her fingers and refuses to answer any questions about it.

Her mother leaves her with annoyance, and Rosalie rips open the letter after the door is firmly closed.

_Dear Rosalie Hale,_

_Mother of eleven children, wife of a lovely fool, terribly excited to be your mother-in-law. My eldest is Lenard, named after my father, his wife is Victoria. My second was Lenore, named just as the same, lives in town with a dandy. My third was Henry, for a while, that was it._

_Then there was Emmett, he came out with a bit of McCarty hair. After him was Rebecca, Sarah, Johnny-boy, Mary jr (after myself) and baby Sonny._

_But I say eleven; I count my daughter-in-law, and the dandy in town among my children. As I will you._

_Be well, come swiftly. Bring sturdy boots. We will fit you into our household nicely, I should think._

_Unfailingly,_

_Martha McCarty_

 

Rosalie stared at the letter, and found herself off-kilter again. Mrs King was dead and gone when Rosalie announced her engagement. She didn’t know what it was like to have another mother in her life; but she doubted anything from a King would be half as strongly-worded as this.

It made her feel … safer. The matriarch giving her seal of approval, even entreating her to hurry? Rosalie is sure she’d never, not once, received a letter like this. It wasn’t sugary nonsense or the like. Rosalie could only imagine the no-nonsense, but caring, woman who wrote it.

 She’ll remember it; but the fact didn’t change. Rosalie had already sent off her own letter, requesting a change of spouse from Isabella Swan. Rosalie Lilian Hale would never make a blue-collar wife, after all.

 

###  Second Reply

Bella redirected written letters to all the girls. Bella actually had two letters for Rosalie; one from herself.

 

_Rosalie Hale_

_You entrusted me with the choice of your husband. That is the entirety of this project._

_I care not for your personal preferences; Mr McCarty is similar to you in age and has seemed to have taken an extreme liking to you. The fact of the matter is; there is no one else. The rest of the pairs are beginning to work together very well; I will not switch you around and disturb them. The rest of the men in this town do not wish for my services, so the options are limited._

_I will **not** be reconsidering your spousal choice. If you do, feel free to drop my services, I will explain to McCarty on your behalf._

_Swan_

 

Rosalie glared down at the response and huffed with irritation. This isn’t what she thought the meek little woman would say _at all_. It simply wouldn’t do, and the denial of her request in such a curt manner infuriated her. Unsettled and displeased, she left her room and went to find her mother. She found her on the telephone, running a finger over the wallpaper as she spoke. Rosalie ducked behind the corner and watched.

“… It’s been so difficult to be so far away!” Her mother cried, looking fussed and annoyed. “Yes, dear heart, of course,” she said fondly, and Rosalie knew she was speaking to her father, “but she is being a terror.” She continued.

Rosalie felt her insides twist, and her dress felt too rough and coarse against her skin. Her mother was talking about her. “Absolutely abhorrent; this is like a tantrum she has when she’s been found out doing something naughty!”

Rosalie took a step back, and glanced down at the letter in her hand. _Something naughty_.

-

_Rosalie had had too much sherry at Madeline Van Houser’s insipid birthday party, because Royce had been flirting with her, even though Madeline’s expensive French frock looked terrible against Rosalie’s new lace. And Rosalie had felt so sleepy and discontent, that she went to one of Van Houser’s guest bedrooms and fell asleep. She planned on telling everyone that the party had been so boring that she couldn’t help herself._

_When she woke, she remembers the terror of someone on top of her, and she hadn’t known what to do. Rosalie hadn’t even realised it was Royce until he pushed off and used her handkerchief to mop his brow. Then he’d told her he’d have her home after one more game of cards._

_Rosalie felt numb as she left the room sometime after him, and found herself staring at Madeline and her friends, who giggled at her, and ran off._

-

Rosalie saw the drops of water falling onto the paper, before she realised she was crying. Her mother hadn’t seen her, and was still speaking. “She won’t come and see anything of society with me, she is insisting on being a sulk ….”

Rosalie shuffled back into her room, and closed the door firmly behind her. The tears didn’t last very long; Rosalie could never stand crying well, and just dabbed them off of her cheeks and went to climb back into bed. She picked up the other remaining letter and a piece of toast.

_Dear dear Rosie,_

_I was very taken by tintype. I put it under my pillow. Hope you are doing very well. I work as a farmhand for the most part. I think your very very pretty and your arms are fine. I know you want a larger response but I am not a writer. Instead have saved up and sent things with this letter._

_I give you a pair of my baby shoes several of my siblings wore them after me but my mother made them special for me first. Three of my curls of hair you will know my siblings and I we are the only ones in town with our hair. There are pressed violets I picked them and my sister made them._

_There are lots of flowers in Forks. The sea bathing is not well cold winds and stones instead of sand. When you come I will take you. I enjoy fishing and am not studious. I wish to see you here so very much. Please come swiftly. Pray tell why._

_All yours pretty angel,_

_Emmett M._

 

Rosalie stared down at the letter, and shuffled the bulky envelope it came with; the flowers fluttered out, dried and pressed. She fished out the baby shoes. The hair was tied into a knot and threaded through and sewn around a decorative bead to keep it in place. The locks _were_ curly, and chocolate brown. They reminded her of Vera’s baby, and his sweet velvet head. Rosalie felt apprehensive of the letter; many men have thought her pretty that told her nothing. It was the items he’d sent that made her pause.

The baby shoes were very worn, and light blue. They fit in the palm of her hand. It took her a long moment to recognise the weight expanding in her chest, the tingle in her fingers.

Awe, this man awed her, and it was the strongest feeling she’d had in a very long time.

 

Esme was at home. She didn’t have the energy to go out today; she hadn’t been able to eat since yesterday morning. She had to make her loaf of bread last a little longer. But she was glad to receive the letter; she was worried about using her precious thread with the stitch work.

_Dear Ms Evenson,_

_Your letter was warmly received. You seem capable and very technically skilled. I hope to bring you to understand the realities of this town. It is a very new town, and not yet fully settled. The men are crude, rarely violent yet some are rarely respectful; you must have thick skin and a strong attitude to get along here. I’m sure the commanding skillset and strong leadership of a schoolteacher will do well here._

_My main patients are among the women in the brothel, the largest business in town. I’ll suffer no judgement of them. They need assistance, be it with termination of foetus or viral diseases. They ensure the men in this town are at least manageable. My work does influence my preaching and I believe that the Son of God himself made it known that these women are just as deserving of The Father’s love as us all._

_If this is unsuitable for you, you will have to find other employment. That said, I hope it will not scare you off, we are in need of the gentler people here and an assistant would be warmly received._

_It is very pretty here, we are surrounded by dense forest, animal attacks are rare and there are many good townfolk, even if they are rough._

_I’ve forwarded $5, I hope you will purchase silk thread and enclose another sampling of your work to me; the more delicate work of facial lacerations. I would suggest you rely on the medical journals of your town’s library, they can be very informative._

_Yours,_

_Carlisle Cullen._

Esme was conflicted as she held the note in her hand. She should, of course, purchase the thread, it averaged three dollars. But she did need to eat, to have steady hands to sew and to make it to the library, quite on the quieter side of town than here. Of course, the prostitutes were a little concerning, she’d never known one before and it wasn’t something she was sure she was comfortable with. But this was a job, a good job, away from this expensive city. But forests and wilderness … it was an adventure like she entertained thoughts of as a girl.

Esme laughed at herself. As though now, as a grown woman, she should indulge in childhood whims. She was much too old for adventures now. There had to be a limit; an expiration date on dreams.

 

Alice held her letter with reverence. This was something Jasper had written, touched and held himself, just for her. She could imagine him sealing the envelope with a kiss. He most likely didn’t, of course, but Alice was surly going to seal her reply that way.

 

_Dear Mary Alice,_

_Received letter and very grateful for enthusiasm. The luggage looks very well and am thankful for the gesture. With that, some qualms – apologies if they come at a bad time. Work a rural life – some light subsistence gardening, cooking, cleaning, not some small amount of resourcefulness all required of someone who is to share my house._

_This is a town far from any other and very secluded. Must be sturdy and not easily frightened. There are all manner of animals about and rough scenes. Do not mean to be frightening, and rest assured you will be safe with me. Please never doubt that you will be entirely safe with me within my home._

_Drawing was lovely and very fair. Would like another, if can be obliged. Included some paper and was hoping for watercolours. If not, the pencil was sufficient. Please, a drawing of you smiling._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Maj J Whitlock._

 

Alice read the letter twice over, and sighed. Jasper liked her picture! He wanted to have another picture of her and smiling! Alice was elated. Already, she could see he was already preparing for her. He had a lot of catching up to do. She had been preparing for him for so much longer. Not, of course, that it was a race, merely that it was becoming.

She hurries to pull out her brushes. She did try watercolour before; strained some tea and painted the skyline in different shades of brown.

She put the kettle on and fished out some tea bags. She’d stand in front of the mirror and smile and smile and smile, until she could see her teeth when she closed her eyes.

She did something similar when she was in the asylum; wiped off the muck from a window and smiled in it, so she couldn’t forget how. She’ll show Jasper that she could still smile, she’d worked hard for it too. [Style based on Lois Van Baarle sketches of Clara Bow]

 

### Responses

_Dear Dr. Cullen,_

_Thank you for your frank and honest response, it was much appreciated. I have given your words considerable thought. Rest assured, I can quell the wildest of pupils, and grown men also. But I must warn you; I do not take nonsense and disrespect lightly. I must inform you that if these men do not treat me with respect while I treat them; I will force them too. I can be extremely stern when the time calls for it._

_I understand duty; these women are patients, and whether I condone their practices or not is not for me to advertise, not even for you to know. Though my knowledge on such areas is nothing – such medicines and procedures I am not familiar with and have no way to study them safely. I will be a fast and willing student to you. If that is sufficient, then please be well and waiting; you'll have your assistant yet._

_Yours,_

_Esme E._

_Dearest, darling, Jasper,_

_My first letter from you! I was anxiously awaiting it, and shall sleep with it under my pillow. Receiving a letter from you soothes every part of myself. Believe it might still hold your scent; but it may be my own wishing. May not have all the skills your household requires, but whatever I lack I shall learn quickly. And do not scare easily, have seen too much of the world’s darkest places for that. Can scarcely stand not being with you. Hope you like my drawings, hope you like my smile._

_Tried to paint myself as accurately as possible, but I very much want you to find it pretty. Shall see what you think of the accuracy of my depiction when we meet! I’m aflutter with equal parts excitement and impatience – in my dreams I come to you swiftly, and whenever I want. Wish to come to you immediately and seek rest for my excited heart. I imagine that I walk with you and put your face very close to mine. I beg you, enclose to me a lock of your hair next._

_I will pick flowers for you,_

_Alice_

_Dear Emmett,_

_Your mother's letter was warmly received. It is inevitable that I will thank her in person. Heartfelt thanks to your sister for the flowers, they are very nice. I have only two young brothers and have always wanted a sister, now I shall have so many. Forks sounds like a truly tolerable place._

_As for me, my story is plain; I was engaged to a man who broke it promptly. It leaves me with no desire for New York again. It was extremely awfully done, and still I cannot stand to have it mentioned, so I pray you do not. I have broken most connections in New York outside of my family due to the ill-mannered way I was treated by our social circle for the incident. I feel Forks can only benefit from my presence, I'm sure you agree. I will keep your shoes safe until I can return them to you myself._

_Hope the McCarty family is well; there is nothing that can stop me from being among your number soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Rosalie L Hale._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I am beginning to love writing love letters. Next chapter: letters and big green trees


	6. A nothing, here to day, but gone to morrow

_Dear Ms Evenson,_

_I am impressed with your response – very well written. With it, I will press on to the other aspects of your employment. My house is well-made but ill-kept, I live with my bachelor son and little regard for any strenuous attempts to right it. For this I will impose on you. My duties as the pastor take up a considerable amount of time on Sundays, unfortunately I must ask you to be at my disposal again. Only for some light written work as my flock assures me my missives are appalling to read. Let me take time to congratulate you on your ability to parse them._

_I hope you are fond of walking; the roads here be can make for a conveyance of no other easy kind. With this, I flatter myself your position entirely outlined._

_I bid you safe travels, Ms Platt. I’m sure you will find this piece of wilderness very different from anything you’ve known._

_C_

Carlisle had barely sealed the letter when his ward was slouching into the room.

“Is there dinner?” The young man asked hopefully, sighing when he received a negative headshake. “Just as well I suppose – couldn’t trust you with a stove.” He mused, but there was a laugh in his solemn face that belied his words.

Carlisle laughed himself, not at all bothered by Edward’s low opinion of his cookery. “A fine thing to say!” He admonished the boy regardless. Edward’s gaze flicked to the window just as a smart rapping sounded at the door. He wandered to the window to peek at the visitor. “Who is it?” Carlisle asked him, leaning back in his chair. His curiosity was not particularly piqued; being both God’s man and medicine man made him well sought after whatever the hour. As it was, a gloomy type of late afternoon wouldn’t be enough to leave the house in solitude.

Edward‘s face seemed equally bored, as he answered in an undiverted way; “One of the oafs.”

“Edward,” Carlisle chided, but he did know who the boy referred to; one of the boisterous McCarty sons, and most likely the youngest, closest to Edward in age.

But Edward did not seem affected by the scolding. “I’ll go fetch him.” He passed by his father-figure and went to the front door himself. He opened it to the young man outside; hat pulled low over his face in the drizzle. “Hoy – Emmett,” Edward said mildly, “are you any good with the stove?”

Edward was ignored in favour of Emmett sticking his head over his shoulder to look inside. The broad face grinned, “Pastor!” He bellowed into the house.

Edward seemed only mildly irritated by the commotion and dismissal, stepping aside and, trailing after him when the door was closed. “This isn’t about that funny little match-up you’re all doing?” He asked him as Emmett thundered up the stairs. “A waste and a scam,” Edward continued wisely, “I’m sure it’ll come to nothing.”

Emmett whacked the study door with the flat of his very large hand, causing the door to rattle, and looked at Edward with the kindly but exasperated eyes of a young man tolerant of another. “You are sure of such a great many things, aren’t you, nosy?” Emmett asked him, while Edward’s face twisted into a scowl. “A wonder your head doesn’t steam like a kettle.” With that, the man jumped through the door and slammed it behind him.

Edward was startled at the slam but was undeterred in following after him.

Carlisle smiles as Emmett bounds in exuberantly. “The replies!” The young man booms, a grin splitting his face. Carlisle inclined his head and Emmett tucks himself into the chair he’s waved to. Ted seems less enthused, but for lack of better entertainment he sits at the window.

“It’s practically medieval,” Ted continues, his brilliant green eyes narrowed with barely hidden disgust. “There is something terribly wrong with these women, I’m sure.”

“Edward.” Carlisle cautioned him, as Emmett’s head snapped up to meet his gaze. “I believe we are all aware of your censure.” He chides.

Emmett ignores the other man after his put-down, he pulls out a slightly rumpled piece of paper, smoothing it gently in his thick fingers. “I’ve read mine thrice over; she has a lovely hand.” Emmett said, his eyes soft as he took in the well-worn paper.

Emmett went on the quote the letter: " _’There is nothing that can stop me from being among your number soon_ ’ There! I think she mirrors my excitement." The man said with no small amount of pleasure.

Carlisle nodded amiably enough. But it was Ted who seemed visibly struck.

"Did she try to stop it before?" Edward asked.

"What!"

"Did she try to have it stopped?” Ted pressed. “Why else say it?"

"For _affection_ Teddy, haven't heard of the notion before?" Emmett asked, trying for an arch tone but his earnest nature, free of pretence, allowed only for fraternal teasing.

Ted smiled boyishly. "No thank you, God!" He said proudly. "In all her letters she talks of nothing but herself, as I well know from your constant quotations. I'm sure she's a very haughty woman."

Emmett was affronted. "Oh don't! Kettle-head."

"Please refrain, my dears," soothed the Pastor with no small amount of amusement.  "She seems very well enough. Have you heard from The Major?" He asked, a question more for Emmett, as his parents resided further from town than the solitary man and Emmett was a frequent visitor and hired hand.

But it was Edward who replied in a bored tone. "He is perplexed."

"How so?"

"Won't say a word on it!” Emmett continued, astounded by anyone capable of keeping their own council. “We know that drawing he's glad to show."

Unlike Emmett's boasting of his tiptype, which was so often to be tedious, Jasper Whitlock was not a man of many words. But far more often recently, he was want to share a carefully-folded paper, only on particular request; a very good drawing of a young lady with a little round face and large eyes. It seemed the woman had a talent for it and found a very appreciative audience.

Carlisle frowned himself. “He's said not a thing at all?”

“You think he hasn't told her.” Edward said, a hand flicking absently over his own cheek.

“I hope my fears are unfounded. Honesty is very important with such arrangements.” Carlisle looked at the cheerful young man, beginning; “It leads me to caution, Emmett,”

“I plum forgot!” Emmett declared before anything could be said. He pulls out a sealed envelope from his trouser pocket and hold it out to Carlisle. “Whitlock wanted to pass this on too; didn’t feel up to coming into town.”

Carlisle takes the letter, glancing at the address, written in a fine hand. “I hope an addition to his house might help his load ….” Carlisle muses aloud. Emmett nodded absently, tucking his own letter back and handing another paper over, in no envelope. Due to the McCarty’s current straits, Carlisle supplied Emmett with an envelope. Carlisle takes the paper and a blank envelope, but pauses. “Would you like me to read yours over?” He asks, knowing scholarly pursuits did not pursue the man.

But Emmett grins at him. “No, not at all! It’s very private, Pastor,” Emmett confided, his eyes bright, “muchly so.”

“I see.” Carlisle assented, watching the boy with some contemplation. “You seem to be going along.”

“She’s so very, very beautiful ….” Emmett said absently, pulling out a tintype from his vest in a very practised move.

Carlisle coughed delicately as the man looked down at the picture affectionately, exchanging a wary glance with Edward. “Emmett … I would not think ill of my fellow man … but photographs are not always the most accurate portrait.”

Emmett looked up, eyebrows raised. “What?” He said stupidly, making Carlisle all the more uneasy.

“What if, in person … she is not so beautiful?”

Emmett blinked and his lips twisted strangely. “If she lied …. I may have too.” Emmett nodded resolutely. “I’ll take her as she comes, Pastor! I’ve made a promise!” He said, jumping to his feet with an audible thud, his expression telling of a gallantry that may not extend to him.

Edward looked at him sharply. “Emmett, how did you lie?”

“I have not!” Emmett protested stubbornly. But the foiling of his devil-may-care attitude was that underneath there was an honest boy. “… She needn’t know everything before she comes, not every little thing ….” Emmett muttered, but grabbed up his hat before Carlisle could question him further, clapping the man’s shoulder eagerly. “Must be off!” With several thumps the man had thrown himself out of the house.

Carlisle felt a twist in his gut, and looked grimly as Edward watched the young man hurry away. “Do you think the Swan would demand refunds?” He asked drolly.

Carlisle put the three letters on his desk and ignored that this was not the only deceit he knew of. “… You are not necessarily in their confidences, Edward.” Carlisle reminded him glibly. Edward only shrugged, though if it was because confidences meant nothing to a young man who seemed to know quite a bit regardless, or simply because he carelessly agreed, Carlisle didn’t wonder at. He nodded the man out of his study, and was left alone once more. “I sincerely hope not.” He said into the empty air.

 

_Dear Rosie,_

_Thrilled and thrilled to have you soon. Kith and kin cannot wait to meet you. All the better to be with us soon – I will show you all the prettiest parts of nature here. Scarce believe we will be made happy so soon after meeting; a good and easy fate. Let the strongest winds guide you swiftly._

_Yours soon,_

_Emmett_

_To Mary-A,_

_As the time comes for your arrival, and I can only make you promises. A promise to be gentle, and kind. A promise that my stipend will carry us through, a promise that my house is yours too. A promise to knock before I enter and leave you well enough alone. The house is big enough for two, and I am kept very busy._

_Please remember not to fear,_

_Mjr Whitlock_

00

Bella check and checked again over her luggage, her lists and her papers. She was ready, she thought, to say goodbye to her parent’s little house; now nearly, so often empty except for her. Tomorrow morning she would be off, and for the last time. She was taking her brides to Forks; they were to go North.

A sleepy, snorting sound had Bella turn on her heel and observe her guests. But no one stirred. Two of the girls had opted to stay with her for the night; Jessica, because her enraged father threw her out before she could humiliate the family with a mail-ordered match, and Lauren, who had not divulged the reason she also stayed. But they had brought all their things and were accounted for, at the very least.

Bella looked over her possessions; boxed away, some of her parent’s things were sold. She was sure that hurt would lessen over time; it was no betrayal; they may have floundered with each other, but they had always loved her.

They would understand why she couldn’t keep the china, or her father’s chess set. She had to be practical. The only things she kept were her books. If she was going to start a library in a barely civilised town; she needed the materials.

A few hours prior, Jessica had just finished crying, and was eating soup and questioning Bella about why she would see them to the town of Forks, and then _stay_?

Bella had almost told them the truth, or rather, what had been the truth then; that she had wanted to find a new place to live. But it seemed insipid; she was leading them to strangers, for all their letters, and then she would continued to hover, on their money? “A library.” She had said, not knowing where it came from. But as soon as she said it, it sounded _right_. “I want to start a library there.” She repeated with satisfaction.

It was as if all the puzzle pieces had fallen into place; she could teach children how to read, or maybe even tackle adult literacy. She could had her quiet home in an alien place, and her home would be a library. But as she was reaching her revelation, Lauren had all but cackled.

“What hope would you have, of trying to tame the wilderness,” the woman managed between derisive giggles, “not with an axe, but with a novel?” Even at that, both of Bella’s guests fell into laughter.

Bella felt affronted on behalf of her new purpose, and straightened her shoulders, held her chin out. “Human beings need leisure, and relaxation; if a cat may lay in the sun and achieve nothing but rest; then there are people plenty, even in a new town, who would like to read.” She managed.

At that, Jessica’s giggles trailed off, and she looked a little impressed, which pleased their host. Lauren stopped laughing too, and quickly stood and decided to go to bed.

 

Esme’s last goodbye to her cramped little apartment was quiet and friendless. She locked up, and handed the keys to the landlord, who bid her a polite farewell. Almost two years spent here, with nothing but a dusty room to show for it. But she shook her head of such thoughts. She left other things; driven teachers who shared her passion, bright minds that, while not nurtured by her any longer, would still doubtlessly learn. She was even given gifts, a sturdy leather-bound notebook from her fellow staff, to study in the wilderness; crumpled flowers and notes from her students. It was not nothing. She had two suitcases, with everything she owned in the world. They were easy enough to take and walk down to the train station.

 

Alice was given her wages early for her departure. Angela hadn’t informed her mother of where it was Alice was going, and under what circumstances. It was at Alice’s insistence; she didn’t want Mrs Weber refusing to offer a job to any other girl with no money or connections, simply because Alice was leaving for something she wouldn’t approve of. But Angela did give the other girl a very pretty roll of ribbon and seven pewter buttons. She embraces Mrs and Miss Weber warmly and thanked them for their hospitality.

Truthfully, Alice was relieved to be leaving; she couldn’t stay in a large city for long, after all … what if she was discovered? She felt so worried every time a man asked about her hair. She couldn’t very well remember all the orderlies from the asylum; but she didn’t care to meet one now, in the daylight.

But in miles of greenery, tucked away in the corner of the country, _that_ was as safe as Alice had dreamed of. Two suitcases for her, two suitcases of a more masculine design, thankfully with wheels and tied together. She was ready to leave.

 

Rosalie watched her mother pace restlessly in the parlour. She’d read the letter of assurance Bella had written, she’d read the sparse letters from Emmett McCarty himself, and even a letter of introduction from his mother. Her knuckles were white with her grip on the crumpled papers, her teeth clenched and her face was thunderous.

“This is an outrage!” Her mother finally declared. The outburst was hardly worth the wait that Rosalie took, sitting as she paced. “If you think for even a moment that I’ll allow this-”

“I don’t care what you think.” Rosalie told her impatiently. “I’m going to be a _mail-order bride_ , for some logger, in some tiny, rural town.” She said clearly, and with no small amount of satisfaction. Her mother’s dark face went pale and owlish. “Give me my dowry or don’t, I’m sure it’s no matter to him.” Rosalie added airily. She certainly had no intention of bringing any money into the union. She certainly didn't even intend on making the most of this union either. For now, and perhaps ever, this man, her future husband, was little more than the most daring escape she could have imagined.

Her mother seemed at a loss to reply to this; look at her daughter as though she was a stranger. A stranger who had done something fantastic and called it ordinary. “… Rosie, this is ridiculous.” She managed at last.

Rosalie stood up quickly, shaking out her travelling cloak impatiently. “I’m not staying here!” Rosalie declared, ignoring the way her voice became horse too quickly. “I can barely stand to look at my hateful self in the mirror! I can’t stand this sun! I can’t stand the thought of going back to New York! Let me go!”

Rosalie stood as her mother almost bent over at her charade, as though emptied out completely by her words. She looked at this woman; who praised social connections, appearance, parties and family above all else. This woman who wanted nothing but the same for Rosalie, and for so long, it was their shared goal. “… Mama, please, let me go ….” She entreated softly. “You can go back to New York, tell father I’ve married, you’ll both be happy ….”

Let her parents be happy, Rosalie certainly wouldn't be. She was even now incensed that Miss Swan had not arranged another man for her. But what's done was done; Rosalie knew how to be pretty, and there's not much else men wanted from her before.

Rosalie was pulled from her thoughts at her mother's hands, cupping her cheeks. For all her height, Rosalie saw her as fragile, for the first time in her daughter's life. “My only daughter, my eldest child ….” She cooed, tears slipping down her face.

“I’ll write to you.” Rosalie promised her quietly. “I’ll be as present as I am now.” She said, and she meant it. Because it felt as though she hadn’t even been _here_. Ever since they left New York, it was as though she was floating away, further from anything she could have imagined she would become.

Her mother’s eyes flickers across her face, her grip clenching and unclenching on Rosalie’s hands. “This man … maybe all he wants is your dowry.” Her mother said quickly. “Perhaps this is a trap and I’ll never see you again!”

Rosalie shook her head. “I never mentioned it, and I certainly don’t care …” Rosalie said. As for never seeing her again … “and mother, I did not plan for anything else. I shan’t be seen back in New York.” She told her; because she always knew she could not return to that city. “This is for the best, I won’t be a bother any longer.”

At her words, her mother seems angry, but the fire flickers out in her eyes. Because she _had_ been a bother. Rosalie’s _indiscretion_ had taken her mother out of New York in the debutante season; a very important hosting rotation that she had had to decline. In Mrs Hale’s world, that was very important indeed. In Rosalie’s old world, it was everything.

Rosalie took the envelope that contained her dowry and tucked it safely into her purse, steadfastly ignoring her mother as the woman sank down onto the couch to sob. Rosalie already had every suitcase she owned packed and ready for her in the cab.

Truthfully, Emmett McCarty would not ever see a cent of this money, not if she could help it. Let him think her just as poor as he; he would be more than grateful to have such a truly beautiful wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of a wild green, and good byes are so important. Rosalie is not really fond of Emmett as anything more than the concept of running away. The title is from a poem by Anne Bradstreet, something about the ages of a man .... Next chapter; The Journey.


	7. Eternity By Term

Their journey had a long beginning; a full day and a night by train. Rosalie, Alice, Jessica and Lauren shared one compartment, with two bunks on opposite sides of the room. Esme and Bella were planning on sharing the other room, but at the last minute; the porter was able to snag them a separate room, and Bella arranged to stay there herself with most of their luggage. Rosalie wasn’t happy; because she had wanted the room on her own; but she couldn’t very well ask a middle-aged woman or their transporter to switch with her.

They spent the day quietly enough; Alice had asked Rosalie to pose for some sketches. They sat with Lauren, her jaw clenched as she looked at the swirling clouds, and Esme, with a ball of yarn in her lap. They formed a slightly morose but mostly tired group.

Alice was having a fine day pencilling every detail of Rosalie’s handsome face, and hummed a little nonsense tune.

“Won’t you be quiet?” Lauren asked her, a high whine in her tone, and Alice coloured, apologising quickly.There was a slightly undercurrent of tension between them all; as this was a momentous type of trip; the time for second-guessing long past. 

Rosalie turned her brilliant violet eyes onto the ill-mannered girl. “Won’t _you_?” She asked archly. Lauren looked as though she was almost brave enough to speak again, but quelled under Rosalie’s icy temperament, rendering her own lack of patience to nothing.

Rosalie continued blithely. “I’m beginning to long for the conclusion of this particular adventure.” But Alice genuine and cheerful agreeance was misplaced and ignored by the others.

“Girls!” Jessica trilled, sitting with them in the tension and breaking it unknowingly. “There’s a good selection of cold meats at the table.” She said, setting down her plate with satisfaction. Esme didn’t raise her head from her knitting for nearly the entire day, and didn’t have much conversation.

Bella spent most of the time holed up in her room; doing lord knows what.

 

That night, Jessica and Lauren were styling each other’s hair, and chattering excitedly. They were planning on going down to the billiard room to chat with the other passengers.

They’d asked both Rosalie and Alice to join them, but seemed just as pleased when they both turned down the offer.

Alice didn’t want to go to a room filled with tobacco smoke and strangers, and Rosalie didn’t want to waste her time over a glass of pisco and deterring some leering idiot.

The girls bid them goodbye, promising to be quiet when they got back.

Rosalie focused on her novel, only because it was the only entertainment she had. She felt the mattress dip, and Alice’s mushroom nose rested on the top of her page.

“What are you reading?”

“ _Romance of the Forest_.” Rosalie grunted back. She didn’t need to act ladylike around Alice; Rosalie was a woman just for being taller and fuller-figured than her.

“May I braid your hair?”

Alice had managed sixteen tiny braids down her hair when someone knocked at the door.

Esme popped her head in, her face puffy from sleep. “I don’t mean to interrupt, I only wanted to know if either of you had the time?” She asked softly.

Rosalie pulled out her watch and showed the face to Alice without looking away from her book. “Half ten.” Alice read cheerfully, smiling at Esme. “Did you sleep well?” she asked brightly.

Esme shook her head calmly. “Not a bit. Go back to your fun ….”

“She seemed sad.” Alice said quietly as the door closed, a little whine growing in her voice.

“We all get sad sometimes.”

“Let’s sit with her.”

“I want to read.” Rosalie grumbled, even though she didn’t, even though she didn’t know what she wanted at all.

“Sit with her and read.” Alice tried, pushing off the bed and waiting for Rosalie.

With a large sigh, Rosalie stood, and walked over to the door very slowly. But Alice only opened the door and waited for her to still slowly step through, and walk all of five steps to Esme’s compartment.

Alice swung open the door before Rosalie could remind her to knock.

It was even tinier than the room the other girl’s shared. It was only a single bunk and a lamp. And Esme, sitting on her bed and dabbing away tears, and eating a small bag of grapes.

She looked startled at their sudden entrance, and immediately embarrassed. She looked down and chewed the fruit quickly.

“Sorry …” Rosalie managed. She felt very rude and awkward.

“We want company!” Alice yelled instead and climbed onto the older woman’s lap. “Are you homesick?” Alice asked her, pulling a tissue from her sleeve and offering it.

Esme took it, not seeming to mind Alice’s weight, and turned away to blow her nose.

“No, I don’t think I could miss a place like that.” Esme replied quietly, and bunches her feet for Rosalie to sit. Rosalie does so and closes the door behind her; careful of the sliding door just shy of clipping her knees. She was nodding absently, too; Rosalie couldn’t miss a place like home either.

“It’s just …” Esme glanced at them both, as though judging whether they actually wanted to hear her. Alice nods eagerly, and Rosalie just waits. “Trains have always been large journeys for me. They’ve always taken me far away from anything I knew before. I’ve never taken one and known exactly where I’d be, not really.” Esme explained quietly.

Rosalie peered closer at the woman. She didn’t know of one person who would cry for something like that. Rosalie presses closer to Esme on the bed, due to her curiosity, and not for the way Esme’s watery smile was calming to her.

“Nor I!” Alice agrees cheerfully, “I came up from Biloxi, and I’m to go up and up again!” She declared.

Alice glances at Rosalie encouragingly, and Rosalie clears her throat. “…. This is my first time on a train.” She admits. “My mother and I came by Zeppelin from New York.”

Esme, Alice and Rosalie sat on the small bunk, and crowd around the small window, looking at the darkness and random lights of other things flashing by.

“… We won’t leave each other all alone in that town, will we?” Alice asked quietly, every bit of her looking very small, except for her round eyes.

Rosalie shook her head. “I’m not being left on my own.”

Esme laughed lightly, and stroked a hand through Alice’s short hair, giving Rosalie a warm look. “Then that’s how it shall be.”

 

Bella had had an awful sleep on the train. The luggage was piled high and she was in constant fear it would topple and crush her. Plus she had barely been able to leave her room with all the work she had to do. She was in a fit when she found Jessica and Lauren hung over the next morning.

She railed at them on the platform, as the two exhausted girls leant against each other, looking ragged. “What is the meaning of this!?” She demanded heatedly. “You’re not here to engage in debauchery!” She reminded them shrilly. She cast a suspicious look at the other three, but they seemed only a usual type of fatigued from the trip.

Lauren waved a hand at her. “Oh, some calm!” She snapped. “We only had some funny punch and a game of cards ….” She added in a whisper, rubbing her temples with a groan. “I don’t see how it’s any of _your_ business.”

“It’s my business! Your entire reason for being here is _my_ business!” Bella snapped, looking as though she was about to start screaming. Lauren’s mouth thinned, and for a moment it seemed she might also start a scene.

Esme steps up, looking calm and pleasant. “Now, Bella, why don’t we focus on the last leg of our journey?” She suggests soothingly. “We’re all here and accounted for, and there’s not really much wrong.” She reasoned.

Rosalie rolled her eyes for the sheer childishness of this entire ordeal. It seemed they were the naughty schoolgirls and Esme was a teacher again.

“Have you got a smoke?” Jessica asked Rosalie in a very bad whisper, who shook her head.

But even with Esme’s comforting voice, Bella was still livid. “I’m not going to tolerate this behaviour!” She declared, “on the zeppelin, I’ll arrange for a room for myself and _you two_ ,” pointing to Lauren and Jessica. she promised sternly, and gestured to Alice and Rosalie, “you three will have to make do together.” She added to Esme.

“So be it.” Rosalie agrees. Esme inclines her head, but Alice grins. She was pleased to be getting a room with the two women she’d grown closest to on the trip.

“Come on,” Bella says, irritated and still very tired. “I have to arrange our luggage and tickets with the porter.”

Jessica protested. “But I need to buy smokes!”

“ _No_ , you don’t.” Bella said fiercely.

 

This zeppelin was to take them the rest of the way. It was longer, though; two days and a night. The Zeppelin was small, due to the rural, isolated destination. It was only usually moored at the Port of Angeles for a re-fuelling, but as it was 50 miles from Forks it was the closest they could get. It had three decks; the first was the maintenance floor, and visitors were prohibited. The second was the staterooms, and they were quite spacious, considering that the tickets were much more dear than the train.

The last and bottom deck was for entertainment. There was a piano bar, a main salon, the dining area, and a small café at the very tip with a small glass floor to match the glass windows.

Bella escorted Lauren and Jessica straight to their cabin; all three reeking strongly of the air of a warden dragging two prisoners to the gallows.

“I’m sure you can entertain yourselves,” Bella told the remaining three over her shoulder.

Alice was excited to be on the zeppelin; she linked arms with Esme, who reminded her not to run off, because they had to stow their luggage. Alice did look just a second away from darting off to press her nose against the glass of a window, much like a few children near them.

Rosalie had Esme’s other arm in her grip, and was standing very straight. She had become more and more nervous as they boarded the air craft, and cast a displeased eye over everything and everyone.

“ _Urg_ , children shouldn’t be left to run amok.” Rosalie sniped, and her marching combined with Alice’s skipping had Esme trotting very fast to keep up with them both.

They spent the afternoon peacefully. Esme knitted, Rosalie read her novel, and then the newspaper, Alice sketched.

“Excuse me,” a young lad with light hair and blushing cheeks smiled at Rosalie, “but I was wondering if some young ladies would like a bit of company?” He asked, twisting the cap in his hands.

“No.” Rosalie replied, flipping the page of the paper and not bothering to look up. Alice had frozen at the man’s question, and looks bug-eyed up at him, as though she had never seen a creature like it before; and was not sure if he was safe.

He looks affronted, and Esme clears her throat. “That will be all, young man.” She tells him sternly, not wanting to entreat him least it stirs up his temper. The man gives them a glare as he scampers off. “Not much patience, Rosalie.” Esme observed. She remembered smiling and sighing like anything with her girls over a shy, new man.

Rosalie shrugged. “I had patience enough when they started asking when I was fourteen,” she said, “it’s just run out by now.” The words made Alice let out a long string of giggles, and Esme couldn’t help but think the little woman sounded relieved.

The day passed uneventfully; they mostly stayed in the lounge area, away from the tinkling piano. Alice ended up dozing, curled up in her chair like a cat. Esme knitted, but grew bored and requested to pick up Rosalie’s book after the woman discards it.

Rosalie nods once, and looks out the window, at the slowly swirling clouds. “Are you nervous?” She asks quietly.

“Yes.” Esme inclines her head, flipping through the book idly. “Though I should say it’s much easier; this is a job for me, after all.” Rosalie said nothing else.

 

Bella spent the day hovering over Jessica and Lauren. They started with sitting at a table in near complete silence at the piano bar, then eating dinner, and then retiring early to their room. The entire time had been stilted and exhausting.

“I don’t see you babysitting the other three!” Lauren hissed.

Bella shrugs. “They’ve proven they understand the gravity of this trip.” She replied. But just in case, after dinner she did go to see all three women in their room, to bid them goodnight.

Esme was knitting, and Alice was braiding her hair. Rosalie lay in her day clothes, facing the wall, though Bella doubted she was sleeping.

“I wanted to say good-night.” Bella told the room, feeling slightly nervous at intruding, and then slightly annoyed that she even felt nervous.

“We’ll see you in the morning.” Esme promised, inclining her head, while Alice chirped a goodnight.

Rosalie hums and rolls over, looking at Bella with clear eyes and mussed hair. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t seem surly, so Bella nods and leaves them to it. She ignores the stupid, girlish impulse to ask to sit with them a while. She was there to see them off; not befriend them.

That night, the tension in the cabin containing Lauren, Bella and Jessica was almost palpable. Jessica complained of a headache the entire day and was lying with a damp cloth on her face, grumbling occasionally. Bella tried to make a show of looking over the newspaper, to avoid Lauren glaring at her.

“What?” Bella asked drolly, not allowing herself to glance away from the article she was reading.

Lauren sniffed. “I’m curious; did you promise the men of Forks _virgins_?” She asks, her voice acid.

Jessica gasped, and flung the cloth from her head, while Bella slammed down her paper. “How dare you!” Bella declared.

Lauren points at her. “Because that’s the only way _I_ could think that our having fun last night bothered you so much.” She snapped.

Bella scoffed. “It _bothered_ me because this isn’t some vacation!” Bella told her heatedly. “I’m taking you home!” That she was; a new home, far away from anything they’d ever known before.

“We _know_ what this is!” Lauren crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re just jealous we didn’t invite you.”

“I’m not speaking about this any longer. Goodnight.” Bella informed them coolly. She tucked the paper away, turned out her light, and settled in. Jessica did the same, muttering about her head.

Bella wasn’t going to let a bit of attitude deter her. These were grown women; they chose her services, and this was what is what those services entailed. Because Bella had her own dreams. On delivering them safely; she was closer to her new goal. A small house, in the forest. Surrounded by dense, damp trees and the smell of earth. A place she could fill with books and have her radio on as loud as she liked. With the money from her match-making, she would have enough for something in the untamed wilderness.

Bella was so lost in her thoughts; she didn’t notice Lauren silently slipping out of the room.

 

The weather at airship hangar was drizzling, and the morning was grey, and they were set to take a rickety little coach the rest of the fifty miles to Forks.

Bella sat in the hangar with Esme, Alice tucked into the older woman’s side watching the window and Rosalie, reading a book. Esme looked at the weather apprehensively, hands idly rubbing her stomach.

“Nervous, Ms Evenson?” Bella asks her, only slightly concerned. It seemed that Esme was more of a homebody, and Bella had noticed her growing discomfort the more they travelled.

Esme, though, looked older than all nine years her senior when she met Bella’s gaze steadily. “Not at all, dear,” she answered severely, “when you’ve been in labour for 12 hours, your organs occasionally rebel against you afterward.” She says. The reminder of her stillborn baby puts Bella on edge, and she only manages a polite nod. Rosalie turns the page of her book so roughly it rips a little.

Alice, though, seems quite pleased with everything today. “I’m so excited, Miss Swan! Oh, I do hope Jasper is waiting with an umbrella, I told him in the first letter I sent to bring one.” She says, almost breathless, and beams at Rosalie. “Aren’t you excited to meet your Emmett for the first time, Rosie?”

“Not half so much as you,” Rosalie says absently, her hand toying with her necklace. And, secretly, the envelope with her dowry tucked under her breast pocket.

The bus was driven by a kindly older man, Waylon, who lived around the area. He could only take them most of the way; three miles out of town.

A strange hush fell over the bus. It was only the driver and the six women, and no one seemed game enough to break it.

Bella glanced at the drawn, quiet faces, and steeled herself. “This is … well, we’ll be there soon.” She tried, but she wasn’t sure any of them heard her over the low rumble of thunder that announced their presence.

 

#  First Meeting

 

Whitlock had determined to go early, so very early, to see their brides come in on the offing. A blimp of promise floating through the misty skies. But he had also offered to house Emmett's new bride with his in the carriage. As the only 'gentleman' type around, he was able to afford his dopey dependable horse, Daisy, and the shiny new carriage he purchased from Emmett's older brother Henry.

Now the man stood, hunched slightly over his bad leg, glaring at the road like it was offending him.

Ted had also decided to come along; though he sat in the carriage reading and offered little in assurance, patience or conversation. His guardian was not too much better, the Pastor was sorting through employment papers for his new nurse-come-housekeeper and tutted as the light drizzle smudged his, already poor, handwriting.

Emmett radiated his own terror. He had told Rosalie his family were loggers, and that was true for his father, and his older brother Lenny, but truthfully the McCarty's were a hodgepodge of occupations. Emmett did well as a farmhand and he was always available for Jasper's disposal; whose bent knee meant he wasn't able to get onto the roof of his house or bend down very well. Henry was a woodworker, and his brother-in-law Johnny was a blacksmith and his older sister Lenore was the town's head seamstress. She made most of her money a few weeks before Easter, when ladies wanted new bonnets for church.

It didn't occur to him to dwell on what Rosalie's occupation would be. With Jasper's new wife; there would be less to do if she was very handy. It had been something of a concern, at the start.

When he received Rosalie's tintype, he was almost convinced it was a famous actress and this Isabelle was playing an awful joke on him. But Jasper's letter seemed real, if strange, and so did Pastor's, and he was led to believe that indeed, this stunningly gorgeous woman was waiting just for him.

 

_"How could someone so very pretty be without a husband? I don't believe it." His mam had said, squinting at the tintype closely._

_"I think it's so very wonderful! She is so pretty!" His little sister Mary beamed her gap-toothed little grin._

_Sarah had let her imagination run away with her. "Maybe she's a bigamist, maybe her husband beat her!"_

_"Don't be so rude!" Emmett snapped at them. "She was engaged once, but he broke it and her heart." He puffed out his own chest. "It's up to me to mend it, you know."_

 

The general store's heir, Newton came along in time, but seemed content on the opposite side of the road. Yorkie, the creator of their one-page, dinky little paper, which seemed to do best as the twice-monthly obituary if nothing else, came to stand with him. The Mayor had also come; though it seemed, solely for the spectacle.

Waylon and his wards rumbled up, bumping along the rough-hew road. He gave the men a cheery wave that was not returned.

"All here! All here!" He crowed when they finally stopped. Everyone seems to shuffle closer, though not too close, so as not to seem too eager. As though men willing to pay for spouses were not already desperate. The Mayor steps up and helps them down one at a time.

Whitlock stood frozen and slightly terrifying, and Emmett was slouched next to him, eyes wide. Edward sticks his head out of the carriage, blinking lazily.

Emmett decides the first woman is mousy, though her shoulders are straight and she introduces herself to the Mayor as the Swan herself. She stands herself next to the Mayor, with a paper, as though she was a schoolteacher marking off roll-call.

"Miss Mallory," She says, and Newton is all genial smiles as he briskly walks over and takes her hand. She is rather pretty, but looks incredibly displeased by the scenery. Newton also takes the Swan's hand and gives her knuckles a kiss; resulting in the embarrassment of both women.

"Miss Stan - Jessica, watch the step!" The Swan and the Mayor both move forward as a slightly smaller girl flounces out with aplomb.

When she is introduced to Yorkie, she lets out a silly peel of laughter which ends with a snort. The Swan pushes them both along.

"I knew it." Edward decides, though his voice carries only to the men and is soundly ignored.

"Miss Hale, come down now, please." The Swan says sternly.

Emmett feels his heart in his throat, and knew he was staring. Her tintype did her no justice; she was the most beautiful woman Emmett had ever seen.

Edward, for his part, looks ungentlemanly disappointed. "Suppose she is much like her tintype ..." He says begrudgingly.

“Well, good heavens! Look at all that luggage.” Pastor spoke, looking amused as several matching purple cases in several shapes followed the tall, blonde woman with her wasp waist.

Emmett stood and yanked the cap off of his head, looking more than a little terrified. With no womenfolk close to him but his family; he was known to be quite wild and unwieldy. He’d spent quite a few nights in the back of the jail to sleep off his drinking.

Luckily, even with a slightly crooked nose, he was a very bonny boy.  Whipping the hat off his head showed the full set of his curls, and his wide smile showed off his dimples. It was a comely image, and Rosalie seemed a little impressed by it.

"Welcome home," Emmett murmurs, taking her hand in his and tucking it into his elbow.

"Thank you." She said, all equanimity and not much else.

"Ms Evenson," The Swan was giving the woman a firm handshake, and the Pastor raised a hand as he walked over.

"It's good to meet you." He said.

Esme smiled and agreed. Before she could say anything, a little girl stepped out and bolted past them all.

"Miss Mary!" The Swan exclaimed, but the girl didn't stop.

The tiny thing suddenly threw herself into Jasper’s arms. He looked shocked, his one good eye widening, before he smiles in his lopsided way.

“Welcome to your new home, Mary-Alice.” He says gently, and she pulls him down into a passionate kiss without a word.

Carlisle was curious at the display; the woman had had her eyes fixed on Jasper, like she already knew who he was. Which would be interesting; as Jasper had a few days ago admitted to Carlisle he regretted not being more honest with his intended and telling her about his scars.

His disfigurement was quite great indeed, it seemed to be an awful blow to the young man’s confidence; Carlisle had once been shown a grainy tintype Jasper kept of his younger self, smartly dressed in his new uniform then. He’d been an extremely handsome youth; good teeth, fair hair and bright eyes. His hair and teeth he still had, along with one good knee, one good eye, most of both ears and nine fingers.

 

Bella watched, gobsmacked, as Alice went straight to a monstrously scarred man and kissed him.

“Miss Swan?” A deep voice said to her.

"Oh!" Bella jumped and turned around to look at the man smiling at her. "Yes." She nodded. He was tall, his deep purple waistcoat contrasting nicely with his dark skin, and had his neat tendril hair in a ponytail at his nape. He had introduced himself as Mayor Crowley and Bella couldn't shake the feeling that he had been laughing at her as he did.

“I see Jasper’s found his wife.” The Mayor said, nodding to the scarred man. “He showed her drawing around and its quite uncannily her.” He gestured behind him, to where two men stand in old fashioned but well-tended clothes. Newton and 'Yorkie', with Jessica and Lauren; clinging to each other as they stepped over the puddles and rivets of rain on the road. "I believe we can all make it into town." He said.

"Yes, of course." Bella said, dubiously eyeing the drab carriage; but she felt an immense sense of relief that her task was nearly done.

But she busied herself bidding Waylon good-bye, and thanking him for his services. She expects him to leave, but is a little surprised that he nudges his horse along to the other side of the road.

“You’ve brought them all!” Newton declared with happy surprise. “How good, some weren’t sure it was real.” He said, eyeing the Mayor.

“I myself thought the price was a little stiff.” Crowley acknowledged.

Bella bristled, but carefully calmed herself before speaking. The Mayor had, after all, enthusiastically agreed with her plan in his missives. “Well, the brides have reached here safe and sound and all accounted for.” She said firmly.

“So it is.” Mr York took up Jessica’s hand and offered his other elbow to Bella.   Before she took it, she felt the need for parting words, something, anything, to mark some sort of closure to their venture.

‘ _all night long, may we sing of the love between the groom and the bride, with flowers in her lap_.’ Bella intoned solemnly.

“What?” Lauren asked stupidly.

But Mr York nodded gravely. “Pretty words. I’ve arranged lodgings for you at the tavern; shall I lead the way?” He offered.

Bella glanced back to where she saw Rosalie and Esme shaking hands with McCarty and the Pastor. They were all smiling politely and talking warmly. The Pastor gestured to the coach, and the door opened, and another, younger man stepped out. He helped Esme and Rosalie up the step ... and he was _beautiful_. Bella faintly heard Jessica gasp audibly behind her and knew that she had seen him too.

Bella then heard her name being called and managed to shake her transfixion to look at where Mr York stood, eyebrows raised. “Um, of course.” She muttered and took the elbow that Jessica didn’t. Her mind was filled with the sight of those piercing green eyes.

Bella barely remembered inclining her head to Lauren, as Mr Newton shook her hand rigorously as they departed.

The ride to the tavern was quiet, the Mayor drove, while Mr York sat with the women. Jessica looked, if anything, merely very drowsy as they moved. Her head lolled occasionally, only for her to perk up and blink every time. Mr York smiled at Bella.

“May I ask how long you’ll be staying?” He asked her politely.

Bella shifted, the sight of those green eyes fading in her mind, the further away they moved. “… It all depends. Tell me, how far into the forest is safe?” Bella asked him, now remembering her purpose, her plans.

Mr York hummed, looking thoughtful. “Hm, I’d say a fair few miles in.” The man smiled at her. “An avid adventurer, Ms Swan?”

“Not at all. Are there any accommodations further in?”

He looked surprised at her persistence as he shook his head. “But not anything.”

“Not an abandoned hut?” Bella guessed, beginning to feel a little off-kilter. She was _sure_ , sure that there would be some type of structure she could make her own. “A small woodworker’s shed?”

“No again.” He laughed at her, not unkindly but surprised. “Whatever for?”

“A home, of course.” Bella told him shortly, feeling momentarily thwarted. But she was silent for a few moments as her mind raced. She was so close now …. “It’s no matter, I’ll have it built.”

“In the _forest?_ ” Jessica asked, her eyebrows raised. Bella was surprised that she was awake but nodded firmly.

“I’ll have my library yet.” Bella promised, but her purse-strings were cinched tightly in her pocket.

York looked mildly impressed. “Perhaps you can catalogue old issues of the paper?” he asked, and Bella was intensely glad she was not an object of mockery. She nodded eagerly. ‘They must be stored in something durable; the air here is wet, and they do not fare well in my attic.” He continued.

Jessica made a comment about having papers in an attic, but Bella was deep in thought and paid no attention.

She could do this; it could happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think I'd get so invested in Bella building a library; but I guess I'm projecting my future career after I get my diploma. The title is a line from Emily Dickinson's 'Our Journey Had Advanced' I really liked it. Bella's quoting Sappho.  
> Next chapter: Settling into a new home.


	8. First Nights

When Alice looked into Jasper’s eyes for the first time outside of a dream, she felt as though she floated straight into his arms. Several people scurried out of her way as she looked vaguely through them, and she slipped her arms around his neck and sighed in complete happiness.

She inched her face right into his neck, watching the mottled skin move as he spoke softly. “Welcome home, Mary-Alice.” His hand gentled over her head and closed her eyes as he pressed it to her cheek. The stub of his thumb brushed over her chin, and she pulls away from him only enough to tilt her head up and close her eyes in anticipation.

When she felt his lips on hers, she had to force herself not to break their first kiss with her grin.

 

They’d brought the marriage certificates. Carlisle signed as officiate and Esme as the witness. There was no to-do, no celebration. Though when Alice finished signing her name; she threw her arms around Jasper and kissed him so hard that Esme looked like she wanted to scold her for indecency. Emmett took Rosalie’s pen after she signed, and the hand she had written with, and gave her knuckles a quick kiss, which Rosalie seemed to accept. Waylon took the papers, promising to have them in the city hall of the Port of Angeles by that afternoon.

Rosalie was uneasy when she looked at Jasper for the first time. The side of his face that was still human-looking seemed very young, but he limped heavily on his cane. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone; except he didn’t look down, but his gaze slid to their ear or chin. It gave the unsettling feeling of being looked _through_ , something the dreamy Alice was also guilty of. Rosalie could not stand not being looked in the eye, it was abominably rude.

Esme had gasped when she saw the scarred man, and while the reaction had been ignored it instantly embarrassed her. She distracted herself with introductions and signing the marriage paperwork as a witness. She felt her chest hurt when she looked at the mangled boy. Because she could see it in his eyes; he was young.

Alice, Rosalie and Esme rode in the carriage, and the men rode on top. Well, three of them. There had actually been a young man waiting inside.

“Edward Mason. Carlisle is my father, for all intents and purposes.” He had introduced himself as he helped them all inside. He was very handsome and lanky. But the man was too old to have a father so young. He’d made small talk; he was a piano teacher when he wasn’t made to be the postman, surely the town would benefit from Alice’s sewing skills, Esme’s flat needed a kettle but until then it would be much preferred if she ate with them, and Rosalie would need to put any frivolous shoes away, and perhaps need to purchase another pair of boots.

“You’ll be living on a slightly wild part of the town, Alice, are you good with manual labour?” Edward asked her, looking a little sceptical. It was easy to see why; Alice was so small, and her hands were soft with delicate tips.

Alice shakes her head pleasantly. “Oh, not at all! Emmett will remain gainfully employed as of yet!” She told him cheerfully. For a fleeting moment, Edward almost looked suspicious. “Rosalie can come to us in the afternoon, and we can all have dinner together!” She added, petting Rosalie’s knee affectionately.

Rosalie looked quite bored but gave a nod in confirmation. Edward looked amused at her response. But something about his expression seemed mocking, and she deigned to ignore it.

“What is the McCarty house like?” Rosalie asked him softly. The lull of the rain was a soothing balm to how unsettled she’d became in their long journey.

Edward glances out the window. “They’re a good family, they’ve worked hard in this town.” His voice was steely, something about him seemed guarded, and it made Rosalie’s defence raise in response. “Their jobs aren’t glamourous, but they’re vital to the continuation of our community.” He added.

He hadn’t answered her question. “… What is it like?” Her own tone was just as hard.

Edward, for his part, looked quite annoyed for a touch, until his expression smoothed out into something professional. “I heard from the Matriarch last week, your new mother-in-law,” he said clearly, “they’re more than half-way saved for the flooring timber.”

Rosalie’s eyes flew open, as did her mouth; “… They don’t have a _floor_?”

 

 

Rosalie and Emmett are the first to arrive at their home. Emmett’s broad, grinning face met Rosalie’s shuttered off expression, as he helped her from the carriage.

Rosalie looked down a dirt road, to a looming, low yet long house that seemed to slowly creep closer. She didn’t respond as Alice kissed her goodbye, or Esme petted her cheek and promised to come to tea.

Emmett had jogged around to untie Rosalie’s multiple luggage cases and hollered to the house; “Henry! Come help with the bags!”

The doors opened, and a small curly-haired army came streaming out.

Rosalie forced herself to calm down; it was eight people. The McCarty family.

One of them was an older man, though not much older, who beams with one front tooth missing. “Em! She’s just like her picture!” The man declared and sticks out a hand. “I’m your new older brother Henry!” He shakes her hand vigorously, not minding that she doesn’t reply, before Emmett throws one of her suitcases at him, which nails him in the head. Henry begins to bicker with him, before Rosalie can demand gentler treatment of her belongings; two girls step up.

“I’m Rebecca,” the shorter one says, smiling bashfully, and she points to the frowning girl next to her. “That’s Sarah.” She said. Three babies waddle over. Rebecca tells her that the littlest is baby Sonny, a year and a bit. Then Mary jr, three, and Johnny-boy who was six.

“Hello,” Rosalie hears herself say faintly. She felt like she might start running or screaming or both soon enough.

“Welcome home!” An older man beams. It was Emmett and Rebecca’s smile; on their father’s face. “My wife might have told you that I’m Silas.” He adds, but Rosalie shakes her head. “Well then; she must have told you I’m a fool.” He says with a laugh.

She’s not sure where to look; her head is spinning, and her knees feel weak. She looked at the long low house and knew it didn’t even have a _floor_. That wasn’t a house! It was a barn! Oh god, she’d have to sleep in it. She would have to sleep in it with Emmett, her husband, who was currently balancing one of her suitcases on his head.

 “Rosalie,” the woman, it must be Martha, smiles gently. She looks like no woman Rosalie had ever seen before; her hair is flat and un-styled, she wears no make-up and men’s boots and trousers. “Do you need to sit down?” She asks. Rosalie nods faintly and takes Martha’s arm when it’s offered.

 “Wait! They practised!” Henry yelled and started pushing the little ones into his mother’s path.

“Oh, alright!” Martha snaps, not angry but stern, and nods at them all. “Hurry.”

Rebecca, Sarah, Johnny-boy, Mary jr and Sonny line up in front of Rosalie; all eyes fixed on her. Rosalie had never been around so many children since she was one herself, and she stares right back at them. “Welcome sister!” They chorus nicely. Silas claps at the show.

Rosalie releases Martha’s arm takes two steps to the right and vomits onto the dirt. The children break out into loud screaming and Martha rubs her back. Emmett gives a yell and drops one of her bags. Silas began scolding the children for their noise and Henry might have laughed a little.

“Best to get it out now,” Martha advises with a nod.

 

##  First Night - Rosalie

Her nausea was chalked up to the stress of the trip; and Rosalie sipped water under Martha’s strict supervision until the baby began to cry. Left by herself in a corner of what could only be described as a particularly large hut, Rosalie inhaled shakily, and bit down on her trembling lip.

That night, they had a stew, which Rosalie peeled the potatoes for. She wasn’t particularly good at it, and after she cut her thumb, Martha had her feed the peelings to the pigs instead.

Rosalie took her time with the animals; they were not kept in a strict pen, it seemed, and unlike her imagination, weren’t covered in faeces and dirt. She even thought they were quite cute; so long as they kept their wet snouts away from her skirts.

She stalled, petting them and scratching their ears; because she didn’t want to go back inside. She was being a horrible snob, she was sure. But if was awful in there; it was just a barn with no floor and even the stables at her aunt’s Connecticut home had been better furnished. These people were poor, and no number of rugs would keep the dirt off of her hems.

 

Emmett was excited. He was _married_ now, he was a husband and he had a truly gorgeous wife. He was going to set up a little picnic outside for their dinner; with an extra blanket to share when it got colder. They needed the alone time, his mother agreed. Rosalie had a lot to adjust to with them all; and his mam said she’d spent the late afternoon with the pigs.

“Probably more civilised company than your little siblings; the spectacle they made of her!” His mam admonished them, and Emmett could only laugh. Rosalie seemed to make an excellent impression on most of his siblings; they were in awe of her. So was Emmett, just a little.

Jasper had made him a newlywed present out of a few candles and Edward had given him a novel he claimed she might like. Emmett never had the patience for reading, but Rosalie had a lovely voice, mature and deep; he wouldn’t mind being read to.

So Emmett took a few bowls of stew out to the blanket he’d spread with the candles he’d lit; on the other side of a great tree, to be a little obscured from the house.

He set the bowls down, and jogged over to where Rosalie was petting a very pregnant Daisy.

“Good night to you!” He called, and grinned when the woman jumped in surprise. “She’s gonna make you a grand-mammy sometime next month.” Emmett added, and Rosalie nodded, looking not at him but the house.

“Suppose we should go inside now.” She said, her tone reluctant. Emmett was sure she might be put off by his family, who were yet strangers to her, and didn’t truly just want to spend time with just him. But he was glad that it meant she would.

“I thought we’d have our dinner over there,” Emmett said, and took her hand to lead her to the big tree.

She looked surprised by the candles, and her eyes flicked immediately to the book he’d left on the blanket, and sat where he bid her. He plopped down next to her and passed her some stew. Rosalie accepted it quietly, and Emmett gave a little sigh as he settled. He was comfortable right where he was; staring out at the woods in the dusk. It was peaceful, and familiar, and there was a very pretty girl by his side.

He looks at Rosalie with a bright smile, but it dims when he sees her eyeing the stew mam slaved over with distaste. “So, probably not exactly as I explained it.” Emmett told her, trying for sheepish but much too pleased to have her here. “Just this morning, Lenore said I left out much too much!” Emmett gave a laugh, but Rosalie didn’t so much as glance at him; scraping her spoon through the broth. “I’m not a writer, see,”

“I see.” She answered blandly.

“Ma says you can help around the house.” Emmett added, glancing back at the cozy structure, where the voices of his family faintly carried back to them. “You’re not a little thing; some scrubbing you could do.” He added, glancing over her full figure discreetly. But they were _married_ , now, so he also reminded himself he needn’t be so discreet. Though they were strangers and he didn’t feel comfortable eyeing her yet.

But glancing at her face, she looked lost and a little apprehensive. “I don’t … I’ve not a lot of experience with housework.” She said quietly. “I can play the harp, and I could teach your little siblings their letters.” She told him firmly.

“Well … they may not make the best pupils, and we haven’t got a harp in this whole town, I think.” Emmett admitted. This wasn’t going how he wanted at _all_ ; he didn’t want to ruin their first might together speaking of such utilitarian things. They were supposed to be enjoying meeting in the flesh, for the first time.

“You’re so much prettier than your picture.” Emmett added sincerely, but Rosalie seemed unaffected, inclining her head. “I thought myself the luckiest man alive when I got your first letter.” He added, but this time Rosalie doesn’t respond at all, in favour of setting down her bowl – she’d only eaten half – and taking up the book next to her.

Emmett huffed a little, “Well, in any case, that’s from the Pastor’s son, Ted. He said you’d like it.”

Rosalie nodded and flipped it open. Emmett wondered if he could simply ask her to read to him; but she drew her knees up, curling in on herself with the book and blocking him out completely.

Emmett glanced around the little field and sighed. Perhaps she wasn’t in a talkative mood, tonight. She’d had a long journey, after all.

“This isn’t what I expected.” It was Rosalie’s voice now, soft but very steely. Emmett found himself shivering when she turned her bright blue gaze on him. “This isn’t what you wrote to me _at all_.” She added heavily. Emmett felt just as he did before a rumble started at a card game, a desperate rush went through his limbs.

Emmett realised that she was very angry and propped himself back up to a sitting position. “Well, um, I told you I wasn’t a good writer-”

She snapped the book shut, and for a heartbeat Emmett thought she might try and hit him with it. But she only looks down on him. “I’m inclined to believe that you may have even _lied_ to me-”

“And what of it!?” Emmett snapped, her expression causing his insides to twist awfully with shame. “I had the tintype of an angel and the chance to bring her to me! What happened to you in New York?” He demanded in turn, and her face went white. “What did that old man do to you – you didn’t come here for me, at all. You ran away, I was just convenient.” Emmett told her grudgingly.

Rosalie’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “How dare you speak to me like this.”

“I’m your husband now, Rosie. I can speak to you how I please.” Emmett grumbled, but he didn’t mean it. He meant to be nice, but the idea of such a beautiful girl looking down on him made him so humiliated that he lashed out. Besides, it wasn’t true; if his mam has heard him yelling, she’ll smack him when they go back inside. “We’re not bad people, we haven’t a lot of money, but we make do.” He added, his voice soft.

He meant it too; he was proud of how hard his family worked; how useful he was getting their needs from the woods or at least getting odd jobs. They weren’t _suffering_ , just struggling. But this girl was perfumed and powered perfect; and Emmett could tell she came from money.

“I want to go back inside.” Rosalie told him, and stood, took both their bowls, and her book, and left him.

Emmett watched after her with a soft groan. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go _at all_.

 

##  First Night - Esme

Esme, Edward and Carlisle bid the new Whitlocks a good-bye, planning to go the remaining half-mile on foot. Alice kisses both of Esme’s cheeks when she leaves. A bustling little figure all but dancing next to a man with a severe limp.

Edward is a bright, intense young man of seventeen, and Carlisle, comfortably closer to Esme in age, is quiet and sedate next to him.

Edward entertains Esme with stories behind some of the men’s injuries in town.

“The _Mayor_ near had no left thumb because he threw a horseshoe at a donkey after his _mare_ threw it, and it came over to give him a piece of its mind.” Edward explains, and Esme rolls her eyes, but she can’t help the smallest of smiles. “But he was set right.”

“This town has had an eventful start.” Esme says.

Edward inclines his head. “It would seem.” He smiles boyishly. “We’re glad you’ve come, it’ll be a change from my potato mash,” he explains, “I can’t make anything else.”

“It’s more than edible.” Carlisle assures him.

Esme chuckles, and nods to the front “So you live just the two of you?” She asks, glancing between them both. She’d been surprised when Edward had referred to the doctor as his father; she thought with their ages they might be bachelor roommates. Though Edward was young; Carlisle seemed full young to have had him. They certainly didn’t look similar.

Edward nodded. “He took me in after my parents died.” Edward explained, and Esme glanced up at Carlisle, to see him watching something in the opposite direction. “I was old enough to be alone by anyone else’s standards, even though I think if that had happened, it would have surely doomed me. He’s a good man, and I prefer the company of …” Edward stopped, and cleared his throat, “I prefer his company.” He finished.

Carlisle smiles at him affectionately. “Edward’s very good to come with me this far from Chicago.” He told Esme. Esme nods, but Edward only laughs it away.

“Not so far at all, compared to the Isles.” Edward teased, referring to Carlisle’s foreign accent. But the doctor shakes his head, and reminds Edward to try and keep Esme’s luggage from the rain. She couldn’t help but wonder at their relationship; but she certainly wasn’t going to pry.

“Here! Home!” Edward yells, and a house is in front of them. It seemed well made and Esme smiles.

“It’s lovely.” She tells them both. Edward smiled with a nod, and Carlisle inclines his head, and presses on. They walk around the stout structure, to Esme’s mild confusion.

“And this is yours.” The doctor says, mentioning to a small hut behind it.

Esme stares. It was lovely and sweet and everything she’d never had before. A dear little cottage, nestled in grass, with the giant trees behind it. It’s not her parents’ house, or her cramped apartment when she was a ‘Mrs’ or her even smaller apartment which she had just left.

“It’s … wonderful.” Esme breathes. She feels very fragile, just for a moment, as though she wasn’t sure one touch from someone else wouldn’t cause her to break into a million pieces. “It’s mine?” She asks with her wobbling voice, turning to Carlisle.

He looked at her for a moment, before taking a breath. “Ah – yes, if it’s to your liking.” He says, as though he was caught off-guard. “We had it cleaned up, I was going to apologise for the growing vines.” Carlisle explains with a small smile.

“I like them, I like it all.” Esme insists, beginning to smile herself. This had been a job, a gravely large expedition; but she hadn’t expected that it could be truly nice. Now she thought it might just be.

Edward sighs, and staggers towards the little house. “Oh, let’s go in,” he exclaims huffily, “out of this rain!”

 

Esme was left to settle into her little cottage before dinner; Edward’s last chance at potato mash.

He was peeling the wet, still-hot spuds when Carlisle came into the kitchen. Edward didn’t reward him with anything more than a grunt; he was preoccupied, so he ended up dropping the potato in the sink when the man asked; “Do you think I need a haircut?”

“ _Why_?” Edward snorted with his incredulousness as he turned around. Carlisle was frowning, brushing a hand over his hair and looking into a particularly reflective pot. Edward could have laughed; this was a man that thought to own a mirror was the sin of vanity, and never really allowed himself to be ungroomed regardless. His hair was combed back and he was never one for appearances.

Carlisle frowned at Edward’s impudence, and glanced out the window, to where the hut sat in the light shower of rain. “I hope Miss Evenson is settling in with no trouble.” He said as Edward picked up his potato again. “Perhaps I should go and check.”

Edward shook his head. “Perhaps you should let her sit for a minute; they journeyed three days to get here.” He point out, and Carlisle sits at the rickety little table instead.  “You think something is amiss?” Edward asked, though his tone was conversational. ”I think it is odd little Miss Mary knew Jasper often hired Emmett; he didn’t mention as much in his letters.” He added lightly.

Carlisle frowned. “He told you of them?” He asked, genuinely surprised. Though the men were close in age, they weren’t close in anything else. Edward’s ears went pink, and he muttered something, picking through his potatoes. Carlisle scowled. “… Edward, you did not _read_ someone else’s missives!” He warned, his tone dark.

Edward spun around, looking very caught out. “It’s not my fault every townsperson here thinks I have little else to do but deliver the mail!” He snaps back. Carlisle sighed shortly, furiously disappointed at his reply. Edward slouched defensively; “Besides, everyone knew I thought it was a hum.” He added feebly.

“Edward, I think you can spare more than a little time out of your day tomorrow and go _apologise_.” Carlisle suggested sternly.

Edward look offended at the idea. “I think not!” He replied shortly, and the back door opened, startling them both. “Oh – Esme! I was hoping I could ask; are you any good at cutting hair?" Edward asked quickly, grinning. (That’s what mind reading amounts to in a Human AU – being nosey)

Esme only looks mildly surprised, before looking over Edward critically. “Well, I might have suggested as much – it’s very almost wild.” She said amicably.

Edward scowled, “Not for myself!” He said irritably and nodded to the doctor-come-preacher who had stood straight from his chair as soon as Esme entered. “Carlisle has gone to the dogs.” He explains, smirking at Carlisle’s dry look.

Esme took a short step towards Carlisle, eyes on his forehead. “Not at all, I think it’s comely.” Esme disagreed softly. Carlisle looked at her and did nothing else. “I could do some at the ends, if you’d like.” She offered, her hand reaching out, as though going to touch his hair, before he takes a quick step back.

“Ah, well,” he cleared his throat and mentioned over to where Edward had his head ducked over the sink “for now I think it best to focus on dinner.”

While Esme agreed unperturbed, Edward ended up snickering as Carlisle excused himself to his office.

 

 

##  First Night - Alice

Alice could really only cook a few things; butter cookies, sponge cake, vegetable pie, and ham-and-cheese criss-cross. So when Jasper takes her home, after seeing off the doctor, son and Esme, she was a little alarmed when he shows her a raw hunk of venison.

“I have to do some mending on the border fence. But I’ll be back for tea.” He explained. He was such a silent, shy man, and Alice was surprised. He’d written her lovely words in a lovely hand, but it seemed in person he was much quieter. She didn’t mind, though, it left her with much more room to chat.

“Well, then, I’ll have something ready for tea!” She said, chipper, and she pressed one last, lingering kiss onto his mouth before he went. The smile slipped off her face when she turned back to the meat. “Oh … dear.” She said slowly.

She ended up trying to chop it into steaks, and decided so long as it was cooked, it was edible. She left them sizzling on the stove, not fond of waiting around until they were done.

Alice took the rest of her time looking around the house. Not very large, and very well made. Alice smiled a little; she liked it, just like she dreamed she would. She was already thinking ahead; new curtains, lemonade in summer, a woven rug ….

She came back from her pleased, satisfied daze at the smell of burning.

“ _Oh no!_ ” She squealed. Racing back to the kitchen was for naught. The steak was awfully cooked, unevenly and too much. She was staring at the sorry meal sadly as the back door opened.

Jasper stepped through the door, his limp only just a little more noticeable after his exertion. Alice is loath to make him starve, and finds her tongue stuck in her throat as she watches him unlace his boots.

Alice finds herself watching the way his shirt hangs as he bends over to pull off his boot, and she can see the hard muscle underneath, the slightly raised scar tissue, and one brown nipple.

Jasper looks up at her when he hears her faint whimper and blinks a few times. For just a moment, Alice is frightened, watching the shadows play across his scars. They make him look lonely and grave. She was frightened of disappointing him; what good was she if she couldn’t be useful? He would no doubt much rather a proper, grown woman who knew how to care for a man.

But Jasper, it seemed, was mostly surprised. “Alice, you’re still here.” He says, straightening up and stepping up to her. She’d excited he’s back, and quickly embraces him, enjoying the tangy smell of his sweat. This was a man that worked hard.

She forces herself to pull away. There was still her inattentiveness to own up to. She takes his hand and reluctantly, shyly, leads him to the stove, showing the charred meat. “It’s burnt and I’m sorry.” She tells him clearly. She won’t hide her mistakes, she wanted to be as honest as she could to him.

Jasper glances at the dish, and smiles at her, causing half of his scarred face to morph into a grimace. “You sit down, I’ll plate it.” He tells her, his voice was at most amused.

Alice was surprised she wasn’t scolded. She did as he says, and he brought over the food.

She’s not entirely confounded; farmers certainly wouldn’t turn away food at the end of a long day unless it was truly disastrous. “I didn’t mean to ruin it.” She insisted, but her voice was quiet. She wanted to tell him that she had hoped their first meal together was perfect, but she felt suddenly shy in a way she wasn’t used to.

Jasper looks at her and smiles again. “Surely you didn’t.” He agrees easily. He seemed to be eating with ease too. “After dinner, what would you like to do?” He asks her.

Alice isn’t sure what to say to answer him. She imagined him in every way; _every_ way. Embracing her as her husband, making her all his, sleepy and blinking so slowly, waiting for her to come back to bed before he allowed himself to fall asleep, holding her hand as he woke next to her. All those visions that were not yet memories, but were for her, swirled around her head.

They made her _shy_ , and nervous. Rationally, she didn’t know him yet. But her heart knew him, her senses did. Her brain just needed time to catch up. She wanted them to be real _now_ , she wanted to kiss him until she couldn’t breathe. She wanted the future that had not yet passed.

So she stared at him, not yet able to articulate what she wanted, and he takes some pity on her. “… I have a radio, shall we listen?” He offers tentatively.

*

_Jasper smiles up at her, seated on the faded green couch, as she hands him a cup of hot chocolate. She takes a seat next to him, and he wraps the old blue blanket around them both._

_He starts pleasantly. “Thank you, dear-”_

_“It’s starting!” She exclaims, shushing him as the tune to ‘Always and Ever’ plays over the radio. She grins up at Jasper, who wrinkles his nose at her. “I shan’t even spoil the best part this time!” She tells him._

_Jasper just chuckles, “oh, I love you.” He decides fondly and settles next to her to listen._

_*_

Alice nods once, tamping down her eagerness. This was the foundation, the wonderous start of her whole life. Her dreams only showed her the middle, the long stretch of love and love and love. She could start from the beginning.

Jasper smiles, his scars pulling it into a grimace. “Do you like music?” He asks her.

Alice opens her mouth, but not a squeak comes out. It was all still so new, so real. She looked at her future in this man and she was overcome. But she calmed herself and starts again. “… Radio shows.” She tells him quietly, eyes dark with intent.

He cocks his head to the side, but his expression doesn’t change, and he nods once.

They eat in silence; Alice wants to ask him about his day, and his horse. If he would like to shower before they had sex for the first time, or after, though Alice wouldn’t let herself mind. She just watched as he eats, slowly, methodically. He didn’t glance up very often at all, but when he finished, he lets the cutlery fall to his plate with a clatter that makes her jump.

“I must ask you to stop staring,” he says, his voice strained and heavy, “I know I didn’t tell you about the scars, I didn’t want to scare you away.” He explained. His shoulders were hunched and he didn’t look at her. He was ashamed of his appearance.

Alice blinks, and her gaze falls to the table too. She hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable, and she couldn’t tell him she already knew what he’d look like. “You didn’t need to.” Alice assures him quickly, as she had certainly not noticed it herself. “It said ‘must not fear disfigured persons’ in the first letter.” She added, hoping he’d be cheered up, “I think you’re handsome, I didn’t mean to stare.”

Jasper turns the damaged side of his face away with a rough jerk, scowling fiercely. “Don’t do that.” He tells her, his tone harsh. “I’m not handsome, I can’t stand deceit.” He snaps. His fury quietens her, and Alice is instantly consumed with guilt that she’d made him so upset. She wants to be very nice and brave, to stand up and sit in his lap and kiss him until he’s settled again. But his body language is closed off, and she’s too cowardly.

“I’ll tune the radio.” He says, getting up with a loud scrape from the chair, and darting out of the room. Alice collected the plates and puts them all in the sink as the sound of static floats over to her. She felt awful, like the disgusting steak she’d made was about to come back up.

Alice creeps over to the doorway of the living room. Jasper was hunched in front of the radio, a fine, expensive machine with a thick layer of dust on it. She looks longingly at the green couch, but Jasper finds the show, and sits at the armchair in the corner, his body in shadows. Alice sits on the couch alone and listens as the announcer tells them _Forever and Always_ would be five minutes away.

In their thick silence, Alice wills herself not to sick up on the couch. Not _this_ couch; where she would hear him tell her he loves her for the first time. “… I’m not deceitful.” She whispers, eyes fixed on the crackling little fire.

Jasper sighs, and it’s such a sad, tired sound, it makes Alice’s chest hurt. “Then perhaps you’re too kind.” He advises softly. She can’t think of a thing to say to him now.

She wants to tell him all about how their life together will be; but down that path lies only another institution. It was all her nightmares and then some; to get a taste of Jasper, and their ever after and after, and have it ripped away from her. She knew that it could happen, if she told him her past, so she never would. She would work to make their future perfect.

But their present was … quiet and lonely. The show started, and Alice listened with rapt attention. But as it went on, Alice could only notice the distance between her and Jasper. She wanted to rectify it.

When a commercial for zeppelin travel sang out over the speakers, Alice got up and took a cushion, to sit at Jasper’s feet. She settled herself down, and braved a glance up, at where he stares at her. “… It’s closer to the fire here.” She explains quietly. He nods, once, and looks over her head at the flames.

She listens to the rest of the show leaning against the arm of the chair, and after the show ends, neither of them move as a tickling flautist that was the usual closing act of the program came on.

Slowly, Alice reached up, and rested her hand on Jasper’s good knee.

Immediately, he wipes it away, and stands up. “No, thank you.” He says shortly, and Alice’s hearts sinks to her toes as Jasper walks straight to the hall. But at the doorway, he pauses, and she bites her lip with some hope. “The bedroom with your luggage is yours. I stay in the room on the other side of the kitchen.” Jasper explains, and goes straight to that room, and closes the door.

Alice blinks at his sudden words and departure. “… We won’t sleep in the same bed?” She whispers into the empty air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always try and use the same names for Emmett's family across all my works, it's easier for me. Anyway, if human Jasper isn't nearly deformed than why bother? This is about as historically accurate as the term 'Ye Olde Times' honestly keep expectations low.


	9. Tea Time

Esme was having an early lunch with Rosalie and Alice, to see how the girls were settling into married life.

“They are full young,” Carlisle said, in a considering tone, as Esme told her employer she needed a half-day within her first week of working for him. “I always thought it was better to wait until a woman was grown to make a bride of her.” Carlisle was looking over the supply orders Esme had written out this morning. Sitting in his chair in the parlour, as Esme put on her trusty hat; slightly squished but with a wide brim. “Early matches can be so imprudent.” He added, tone conversational, not judgemental.

Esme felt her own stomach tighten. She was only two months out of school when Charles had asked for her hand.  She had been so very young and hadn’t thought the decision made her any wiser or older. But she let the old feelings wash over and past her. Now she was thirty and she lived in a darling cottage. Quite good for thirty.

“Not, of course, that these are bad young men,” Carlisle said quickly, looking up at her with eyes slightly wide.

Esme smiles. “Of course.” She agrees easily. Jasper had held himself so consciously and carefully, gentle in every bit of his movements; very aware of his face. Emmett had thick red stitching on his shoulder like a line of fire ants; as though he had ripped the sleeve and had it mended by a clumsy hand, possibly his own. “I’ve known my share of bad young men.” She said, and she pauses at the door. “Are you sure you won’t need me?” She asked him.

Carlisle looks at her and nods warmly. “For now, I’ll manage quite alright at the office alone.” He assures her as she steps out the door. “Don’t feel the need to stay away, of course.” He adds gently.

“Of course!” Esme agrees cheerily and waved before she went through the gate. She was embarrassingly, thrillingly, close to skipping towards the Whitlock home. It made her feel silly and girlish; but she thought that Carlisle was a good-looking, almost distinguished man, who had a chance of being very fetching if he didn’t dress so dated. In so far, Esme hadn’t seen more than his wrist and he would doubtlessly be considered by Alice to be painfully unfashionable.

She had been originally surprised he needed a nurse at all. Until she had actually been with him and his patients.

The first man was Mr Chaney and Chaney Jr; the young man had sliced his leg open doing chores and while very alert, was getting slightly dizzy by the time his father lugged him inside. Esme had shown them in and gotten the thread and needle ready, while Carlisle thoroughly washed his hands.

She smiled when he entered, but Carlisle was already Doctor Cullen. Doctor Cullen was strict, severe to the extreme and completely unrecognisable to the pleasant man she’d been met with at the blimp hanger. This was almost an entirely different person. He scolded the boy for being careless and reckless, and told his father there was no choice; three days off that leg.

The loggers grumbled and muttered, but in the end, they agreed, thanked him, paid and left.

When the door closed behind them, Carlisle chuckled to himself. “You can lead a fool to water …” he muttered, and Esme frowned at him. “Is anything the matter?” He asked her pleasantly.

Esme felt a little lost, a little on edge. “Your demeanour, with them, I almost thought you were a stranger.” She found herself saying, but it sounded as though she was talking through water, in her own ears.

Her husband had been the same; laughing, gale and hearty, with friends and family. But as soon as they were alone; his entire personality changed; behind closed doors, where no one would ever believe her. He was a tyrant, nothing was ever right,  _she_  was never right. Too fat, too slow, too naïve. Esme knew now, as she did when she was gazing at his tombstone that the most naïve thing she had ever done was agree to marry Charles.

But she shakes away that fear, because he was her employer, not her husband. And because of Edward; the boy was easy and cheerful besides. Edward had seen more of Carlisle than she ever had, though to what extent wasn’t her business. If the boy wasn’t frightened of him, then Esme had no reason to be either.

Carlisle, for his part, seemed undisturbed by her words. Shrugging, he glances to his desk to make a note of the patient. “Well, a job isn’t for pleasure.” He says briskly. “I’m here to attend to their physical wounds. On Sundays, I can be compassionate. Until then; they are only in need of a steady hand.” He said with a smile.

Esme didn’t think that was true. A doctor needed to be compassionate too. But the man had his mind made up; it seemed, and the townsfolk seemed equally content with it. It was to  _her_ , it seemed, to fill the deficient in bedside manner. She could bear it well enough.

 

 

Rosalie stepped into the front door and gave Alice a neat hug, and a rather stern kiss. Emmett had walked her here and had gone with Jasper to mulch horses or chop fenceposts. Whatever labouring work needed doing. Rosalie had been very giving; she had given Emmett a small kiss before he left, which had lit up his whole face and sent him off whistling.

It did little to belie Rosalie’s foul mood, so was very disinterested as Alice showed her the well little house. “This is my home!” She said proudly, as Rosalie made a beeline to the settee without prompting. “I look after it.” She added with a dreamy sigh.

Rosalie said nothing, and Alice seemed to accept her temper delicately, pouring her coffee and cutting her a slice of the sweet baked loaf. “So, what is so wrong?” Alice asked her after taking her own cup.

“Their house doesn’t have a floor, Alice!” Rosalie exploded, her mouth twisted into a snarl uglier than Jasper’s. “It’s a shack with eight people in it!”

Alice blinks, before glancing down into her coffee. “… He seems nice.” She tried.

But Rosalie did not want the attempt, though at Alice’s meek response she does force herself to settle. “He  _has_  to be,” Rosalie snorts. “His mother is always watching.”

Rosalie could barely think without Mrs McCarty bustling about, telling her to hang laundry or scrub plates or tromp into the tree-line and call for the younger boys. The orders were gently doled out all day, and Rosalie was tired and frayed and couldn’t even say she was bullied. The entire family worked hard for so little. Rosalie didn’t think Emmett would be unkind to her if not for his mother, but the way Alice’s grip tightens on her cup.

“Are you okay?” Alice asks, her face drawn.

Rosalie rolls her eyes. Emmett was  _brutish_ , but no brute. After New York, Rosalie knew what they were. “Yes,  _yes_.” She insists, her anger fading to huffy irritation. “It’s not as though he’s any meaner when she’s not around. It’s not as though he can … force anything.” Rosalie said quietly. “There’s  _five_  people in that house; we’re never alone. He kissed me once.” She said. It was on the first morning that she slept in his bed. He had cuddled into her back, and when her eyes were just fluttering open, she found him staring down at her, looking just shy of reverent. She watched as he bid her good morning and leaned down and kissed her. Then his father called for him, and that was that.

Alice looked wistful. “Jasper hasn’t kissed me yet.” Alice says, beginning to frown. “I’ve kissed him at least  _three_  times, but I don’t want to be cheap.” Alice admitted primly. Rosalie had no clue how a wife could be cheap in that sense. “I don’t know how to go about it, I kept trying to lean my face upwards, but he asked if my neck was sore.” At this, the woman pouts, and Rosalie chuckled into her sip of coffee. Annoyed by this, Alice waves her off dismissively.

Rosalie shrugs. “It’s not as though I don’t know how men are.” She said. She didn’t plan on telling Emmett she wasn’t a virgin, or how or why. She thought back to the dirt floor and the cut on her thumb. “I just know I didn’t sign up for this.” Rosalie whispers, unclenching her fist when she crushed her sweet slice in her palm. “He misled me!” She snaps, throwing the crumbs angrily back onto her plate.

Alice looks concerned initially, but she begins to grin. “Rosalie, if you really can’t do this, maybe you could sleep here!” Alice suggested eagerly. “Jasper sends himself to the guest bedroom, but if you stayed than he would sleep next to me!” She said.

Rosalie gave Alice a very strange look. “… Alice, what man doesn’t sleep next to his wife?” Rosalie asks her. “I wake up with Emmett nosing my hair every morning.” She said, rolling her eyes. The blood rushes to Alice’s cheeks, but before the little woman could start to giggle, Rosalie shakes her head sternly. “No.” She says.

Rosalie considered Alice’s dilemma, after all, it was much more entertaining than Rosalie’s pain. “Alice … how disfigured is he?” She asks. “Does he even look like a man … down there?” She hissed.

Alice scowls, and focuses her attention on the sugar cube in her tea. “That’s a rude thing to say to me.” The woman replied with a sulky pout.

“You have not the faintest clue.” Rosalie says with unkind satisfaction. She was glad that for all Alice’s assurances and confidence, she was just as lost as Rosalie was here.

Alice glares, but before she could say anything, there’s a knock at the door.

“Girls!” It was Esme, who opens the door and pops her head in. She chubby cheeks are slightly flushed from her walk, and pleased. “Hope you don’t mind my interrupting.” She says with a smile. Alice jumps up and runs to throw her arms around her rotund waist.

“Esme!” She cheered and ushered her inside. “Come sit and have some of my sweet loaf!” Esme thanks her, and Rosalie smirks into the rim of her cup.

“Alice needs advising.” She mutters, chuckling darkly.

“ _Rosalie!_ ”  Alice hisses fiercely.

But Esme only cuts herself a slice of cake and thanks Alice for a cup of tea. “What’s this then, dear?” She asks the little, moping woman. Alice only shakes her head, embarrassed.

“Jasper takes the guest room.” Rosalie explains in a bad whisper. Alice kicks her under the table. “Perhaps because you’ve no bust, he thinks you a man.” Rosalie simpers, rubbing her shin with displeasure.

“ _Rosalie_ ,” It Esme’s turn as she tuts, and pets Alice’s hands comfortingly. “Come,” Esme says to her soothingly, “a boy so … with his appearance, perhaps he doesn’t want to startle you.” Esme says, but her tone is halting, and she looks unsure herself.

Alice groans. “But he  _doesn’t_!” She insists. Her hands curl into fists and she shakes them at the sky with passion. “I’m not scared of him one bit! I want!” At the last word, she clutches at the air, before flopping limply into her chair.

For the first time, Esme wonders at Alice’s exact age, with growing trepidation as she takes in the slight figure. Surely, even if the scarred boy  _was_  young, joining the army mustn’t make him  _very_  young. Alice, on the other hand, seemed rather very young.

But Rosalie just rolls her eyes. “Well tell  _him_.” Rosalie snaps. Alice mimics her words in a sarcastic tone and offers nothing else.

Sighing, Esme settles back into her seat to take a sip of tea. “Rosalie, how is Emmett?” She asks her, “I’ve met his mother, she’s so kind!” Esme smiles at the memory of how friendly yet brisk the woman was. “Really, a very warm person.” She continues pleasantly.

But Rosalie’s expression is angry, and her jaw is clenched tightly. “They’re fine, they’re fine!” Rosalie snapped, but it seems the flood had broken the dam, and Rosalie is hunched forward and ferocious. “I’ve barely taken off these boots all week and I get pawed at every night by a man who still lives with his entire clan and has not even two coins to rub together –”

The back-door swings, a whine in its hinges, and all the woman jump to attention. But the door was almost swung closed, stopped by Jasper, who stands there alone, Emmett’s back disappearing as he hurries away. Rosalie bites her bottom lip, and Alice straightens up in her seat with alarm. Rosalie manages, more controlled; “they’re fine.” In a small whisper.

But they all knew he’d heard her. Jasper held up his canteen. “… We came for water.” He explains, his tone calm as he walks in. Alice’s hands flutter, but he goes to the sink and pumps water to fill both canteens. “I’ll take his to him. Ma’am.” He says, inclining his head vaguely towards them as he walked out the door again.

Alice’s hands clutched her own hem with distress. “How much did they hear?” She hisses at the other two women, “Oh, I hope they only heard Rosalie.” She worries, and this time Rosalie kicks  _her_  under the table.

 

 

Rosalie is extremely uncomfortable when Emmett walks her back … home. He looks miserable and drags his feet and keeps his cap low over his eyes.

She’s not sure how to make it any better. She certainly wasn’t going to  _apologise_. It didn’t matter if she was harsh, or even sorry; she wasn’t going to say those words. It wasn’t in her nature. When they get to the McCarty residence, it’s … empty. Rosalie is a little shocked; the house hasn’t been empty since she’d been here. It’s awfully strange.

The largest room is the main room inside the front door. It has a couch and armchairs and a small fireplace on one side. The other side of the room is the dining table, a mis-match of chairs, a sink and shelves.

There was one long alley of a bedroom grouping along the far side, all divided by thick, stiff curtains with no real walls. A ‘girl’s room’ for Sarah, Rebecca and Mary jr, and one ‘boy’s room’, for the two young lads, Johnny-boy and baby Sonny. Emmett and Rosalie almost had their own sectioned off place. But baby Sonny had nightmares, and he was a sweet toddler, so Rosalie helped him set up his cot next to their bed. Emmett seemed mildly annoyed by it; but it seemed mostly because Johnny was prone to flatulence in his sleep and woke Emmett up in the morning by prying open his eyelids with his baby fingers.

It turned out, Lenny lived with his wife and her ill sister a little further into the woods. Henry also lived ‘out of home’; he built himself a hut a few paces to the left and slept there. Only Lenore lived in town and seemed to come by every second day with an armful of cloth that needed sewing. She was teaching Rosalie but did not make a kind or cruel mentor.

But tonight, everyone was gone. Rosalie glanced in all the bunks, hoping that at least the surlier Sarah had stayed home.

She looks over, uncertain, as Emmett tugs off his coat at the door. She wasn’t  _scared_ , but she was nervous and in such an excessively awkward situation.

“They’re gone to Lenny; Victoria felt the quickening and told Ma early.” Emmett told her, and while his tone was sullen, he also didn’t face her directly. Rosalie couldn’t manage to be excited for a woman she’d never met; the thought of the quickening makes her own stomach churn. “She’s excited about babies; Ma wanted the littlies to run off their mischief too.” Emmett continues.

Rosalie glances around, and desperately hopes she might hear the screaming parade coming back in a few moments. But she doesn’t, and some time passes, as Emmett takes a kettle to the water silo out the back. He comes back and silently puts it on the fire, and then sits at the stool there.

Rosalie continues to dither at the centre of the room for a moment, and her own indecision makes her irritated. She clears her head and walks over to stand next to him. “Emmett, about my earlier words, I hope you’re not in a temper.” She tells him shortly.

Emmett looks into the fire with his shoulders slumped. “I’ll send you home.” He tells her. “As soon as I’ve the money for the ticket.” He heaves himself up and wanders over to his-their bed. “You can tell them whatever you please, matters nought to me.” He mutters.

Rosalie felt a jolt of panic in her gut. She couldn’t go back to her family like this. That was the entire point of her fury at him – she had used this as her entire, dramatic last resort. “I don’t want to leave, Emmett, that’s not my intention.” She told him honestly.

Emmett spreads his hands over the thick curtain of their ‘room’. “Well this is all I can offer.” He tells her plainly. “I know I misled you, but your tintype was so pretty ….” For a moment, at least, Emmett looked less sad and simply more ashamed. “I thought if you saw how well we worked, you’d like to join our family.” He admits quietly, not just shamed; embarrassed. It was obvious he thought she was looking down on him.

Rosalie lets his words hang in the air for a moment as she thinks. Rosalie hadn’t known Emmett long, and he had omitted so much from the moment they’d been in contact. But ... in person, he seemed earnest, if loud and brash and too easy. She wasn’t surprised, in hindsight, that he had only misled her through the lack of information; she’d known his writing and he had admitted he wasn’t fond of doing it.

She doubts she would find him a very good liar – especially when compared to her. She remembers, their tiff on her first night here, he had said something about being able to speak to her as he wished as husband and wife. But his voice had broken on the last word, and almost immediately after he had glanced, guilt-ridden, in the direction of the house and his mother’s loud voice.

And there simply was nothing else for her; no New York, no Arizona summer house. She’d be surprised if, when she did send her mother a letter, it wouldn’t simply be returned. The Hale’s wouldn’t accept their daughter back after a stunt like this, she’d known that already. Her flighty, outlandish behaviour would have made them the shame of Rochester. “I like your family. I think they’re good people.” She says at last. “But you did lie.” She looks at him, and this time, he meets her gaze steadily.

“I did.”

 

 

Bella took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she walked to the only doctor in town. He practised in his home, and the breath-taking man with startlingly green eyes was his ward. She’d had a frequent visitor in the new Jessica Yorkie, who came by nearly every day to tell her everything that was going on in town. In the first few days, in which she became acquainted with the town and its inhabitants, Bella considered her a valued informant. Now that she’d covered everything Bella began to find her very irritating indeed.

But it had been Jessica that told her of the man Doctor Cullen considered his charge. He was Edward, he gave piano lessons, and Jessica held him in personal distain after meeting him, as she found him ‘taciturn, proud and arrogant’.

Luckily, it was a trip, quite literally, down stairs to see Jessica off after another insipid gossip-filled tea-time that gave Bella the opportunity to make a judgement for herself. Though it left her with a bit of a limp along the trek to the Doctor’s house.

That is, she was going to visit the Doctor Cullen, and, more than likely, perhaps be greeted at the door by the young man. The very thought made her blush a little, as she knocked on the front door and waited, butterflies in her stomach.

Bella smiles as handsomely as possible as the open begins to open. But when it is open, she struggles to keep her smile in place. Esme looks pleasantly surprised to see her and doesn’t realise that she’d dashed any hopes at all. “Miss Swan, how do you do?” She asks kindly.

Bella shrugs, still slightly disappointed. She hadn’t exactly forgotten Esme’s position, but she didn’t factor it into her plan, if it even was a plan. “Slightly poorly. I hope I could see …”  _Edward_ , she thought with embarrassment, “um, the doctor …?” She asked.

Esme was already nodding and ushering her inside. “Come wait in the kitchen, have tea.” She offers.

 

Bella walks with her through the house; a small parlour, a staircase, a mudroom. The kitchen was small and relied on the store for most of the light not offered by the window. Esme waves her to a chair and asks her of her ailment.

 “It’s nothing too serious.” Bella tells her, leaning down and holding her leg out straight. “I fell, at the motel. My knee seems to be inundated.” She explains as Esme waits for her to work down her stocking and rearrange her skirt.

“Oh my –” Esme gasps lightly at Bella’s swollen and purple knee- “how badly did you fall, dear?” She asks, tutting slightly.

“Far from my worst fall!” Bella assured her quickly, already embarrassed by such overt concern. “Only down a half-flight of stairs. Disagreed with me, hardly does, usually.” Bella mused.

“You  _do_  seem prone.” Esme agreed, with some amusement; no doubt recalling all the stumbles she’d witnessed on their journey. “No more getting up, I will bring him here instead.” Esme decides, and trots off with determination.

Bella doesn’t have the chance to remind her of the tea she offered. But she wasn’t particularly thirsty; it was just a little awkward sitting in someone else’s kitchen. It led her to thinking about how awkward the motel was. Her first few nights were actually paid by the Mayor himself; not out of any altruistic spirit, he had lost a bet when she brought the brides and it was his wager. But soon she’d be paying out of pocket, and that worried her greatly.

Bella had thought, that for all her planning and thinking and strategy, that the exodus and illnesses of the women in town would leave  _something_  vacant. But nothing suited her needs, or her dreams. Too decrepit, too far into town. Bella stifled a weary sigh; this was a lot more work than she thought it would be. At this rate; she’d have to have her library-house built herself. Completely out of her own purse. She had to reconfigure her entire budget, and she wasn’t sure if she could manage it.

There was a throat clearing, and Bella spun in her seat, ignoring the throb of protest from her knee. “Hello.” Edward said, his voice strained. “Can I help you?”

Bella blinked at him, a little dumb-struck. Her ears turned as pink as his were. “Just, um …” Bella looked around, as though Esme was liable to pop out of the cupboard to explain, “for the doctor.” She muttered.

It was then that she noticed how flushed the man was, and how he seemed to be … covering his nose? His hand remained delicately in front of his face, and Bella carefully sniffed while looking straight down, hoping the walk to the house hadn’t left her reeking of too much sweat.

 It was when she was looking down that she realised Edward hadn’t been covering his nose, rather averting his gaze from her shamelessly completely exposed leg. Her chest and face burning, Bella quickly flipped her skirt down firmly, keeping her palms pressed to her knee. She was mortified to be displayed so absolutely humiliating, and cheap.

Edward’s gaze remained fixed to the left, his ears pink. “I see,“ he cleared his throat, and pressed his long white hand to his chest. “… Edward Mason. The town mailman, for all intents and purposes.” He said, glancing on her slightly and offering some sort of half-smile.

Bella nodded quickly, “I know,” she said quickly, “the local pianist, too.” Jessica had spent some time chatting of every facet of Edward Mason, until they’d actually met. Edward, for his part, looked very pleased.

“Always appreciate being fully considered as such.” He told her warmly enough. Bella nodded, and a short but awkward silence stretched out.

“Do you like reading?” Bella asked him suddenly.

“Beg pardon?”

In the face of his polite confusion, she faltered. She had no experience looking at a face so finely made. “I was – wanted … a library.” She said haltingly, and Edward frowns, not with any harshness, but continued politeness that Bella wasn’t entirely sure stemmed from something other than indifference. “You are the mailman and I will be … the librarian.” She managed, already mortified by her words. She knew he must think her nothing but a stupid, insipid type of girl; more like Jessica than herself.

Thankfully, there were footsteps behind them, and Edward glanced over his shoulder only to incline his head towards her. “Good luck to you.” He said cordially, before stepping to the side. “Carlisle, The Swan has an injury.” He says at the moment the doctor steps through into the kitchen, Esme at his heels. She was holding a dinner tray full of things that weren’t dishes, and sets them and herself down next to Bella.

Carlisle turned away to look back at Edward and Bella couldn’t see his expression. “ _Miss_  Swan,” he began sternly, before he turned towards her, with a cold smile, “pleasure as always.” He said dryly. Bella was a little taken aback; the man seemed slightly stilted and much sterner than he did picking up Esme that first afternoon.

He kneels at her feet, but pauses a moment, eyes askance. “Edward, I believe you have one more message to deliver to the Major?” He asks archly, in a tone that didn’t really signify a question.

For Edward’s part, he seemed immediately displeased. “It would be my utmost misery.” He informs the man.

Bella had the distinct impression of being caught up in anther’s business, and looked to Esme, who was busied sorting the supplies she’d brought on her tray. “You should have escorted Miss Evenson like I told you to.” The doctor said, and Esme looks up expectantly at her name.

‘Esme said she would be more than happy to walk alone!”

At Edward’s obviously cross tone, she nodded firmly, seeming more amused than anything. “That I did,” she agreed cheerfully, and then looked at Carlisle with a mockery of reproach. “You must start calling me Esme, too.” She reminded him and looked to Bella. “I’ve no formalities, isn’t that right?”

“Yes …” Bella said, as Esme began to speak to Carlisle about bandages, and Bella saw Edward shift, towards the exit, and her heart fell into her stomach. “You may stay, if you wish.” She told him quickly.

“Which knee is it, dear?” Esme asked, looking down pointed at Bella’s skirt.

Edward shook his head, a blush spreading across his cheeks again. “No, I’d best not …” He muttered, no doubt remembering which knee Bella had injured. “I’m off to swallow my pride, then.” He says, spiteful green eyes fixed on Carlisle golden head.

“Yes you are.” Carlisle answered blandly, and after Edward left, he looked to Bella with such a pitiless gaze she almost quaked in her boots. “Now, what is the problem?” He asked coldly.

 

 

Edward was unhappy in the position of groveller. It wasn’t as though he had done something _very_ bad; reading letters with no substance further than ‘ _oh please, don’t fear my scars_ ’ was hardly a cardinal sin. It wasn’t as though he was a  _professional_  mailman, after all; this was simply a public service he performed for the town. He wouldn’t usually read letters anyway; it was just that Jasper had been so secretive about his; and Edward loathed not being privy to something. Never mind that he was certain the entire bridal service was a scam.

It was in a blackened mood that Edward knocked on the Whitlock door. It was opened so immediately, that even Edward startled. Little Miss Mary beamed up at him. “Hello Edward.” She said brightly.

Edward frowned imperiously. “You should refrain from using my first name.”

“I don’t see why,” Alice answered blandly, leaning against the door-frame with all the languidly of a cat, examining the polished metal ring on her finger. “You know, I’ve been married for so long now, and not one person has called me Mrs Whitlock. It’s a shame, really.”

“You have  _not_  been married for long at all!” Edward reminded her, almost laughing on her genuine expression of vexation. “I need the Major.”

“As do I, yet he continues to have chores to do.” Alice says, as though it’s a very heavy burden. “I have chores, yet now I run them out.”

For a moment, Edward’s lip quirks upwards, and Alice beams brightly in response.

“Come on, make a mess, give me something to do.” Alice tells him cheerfully, finally stepping aside and letting Edward through.

He chuckles as he walks through the door. “I’ll do my best.”

They end up sitting in the kitchen and chatting most of an hour. The topics were broad and quickly dealt with; the piano, city fashions, the little shop Alice used to live and work at, even a little of Edward’s time in Chicago. Edward was almost surprised at how well they kept up with each other. But throughout the rapid-fire conversation, one thing remained clear; this was a woman who loved her husband. Edward didn’t doubt it; but at such an early acquaintance, he found it strange.

But it was in complete comradery that Jasper found them in; when he walks through the door that night. His limp was slightly more pronounced then when he left, evident when Alice stood up and started rearranging the chairs, so he could immediately sit.

Jasper remains standing as he looked at Edward in bemusement. “Teddy, what on earth are you doing here?” He asked.

Edward huffed, looking very put-upon. “I wouldn’t usually waste my time here,” Edward explains, to which Alice giggles, “but I’m under orders.”

“I’ve missed you, Jasper, all done?” Alice asked eagerly, beaming merrily as she holds the chair out for him, “It’s early, but if you’re hungry I’ll make you something and have supper underway soon.”

Jasper, for his part, looks neutral as he sits. “No need, ma’am.”

“But you should scamper,” Edward tells her, eyes on Jasper. “I need to speak with him alone.”

“Well!” Alice looks a little annoyed at being dismissed, “I’ll work on the outline of the trousers now.” Edward hummed, the clothing obviously being part of their earlier conversation, as she trots off.

When the door to the little back workroom Alice had taken over was firmly closed, Jasper’s tone is harsh; “You shouldn’t speak to her like that.”

“Abominable, aren’t I?” Edward’s voice was airy and bored, but his green eyes were bright with mirth. “Unfortunately, I have the sinking feeling that we are friends now.” He said with relish. For a young man on the oust of a small social pool, he may very well enjoy such a development.

Jasper’s shoulder’s relaxed, he leaned back in his chair with some candour in his manner that did not belie amiability, but a slight impatience and assuredness not that he was in the presence of a friend, but an inferior. “What do you want?”

Edward’s own posture became very stiff in response. “To give an apology.” He all but sneered. “I have failed in my duty as a mailman. Perhaps I should find another profession, this one suits me ill ….” Edward muses, flicking lint from his jacket. He glances up at Jasper’s sardonic expression and scowled.

“I read your letters to Miss Mary.” He says in a rush. “I don’t see what’s so wrong with it – they weren’t very engaging at all.”

There was a beat of silence, Edward eyeing Jasper with caution, and Jasper’s steady half-clear gaze.

Jasper huffs out a breath of air and swings himself forward again, with a fluidity of his movement that hinted at a sure physicality. “Your nosiness concerns me not.” He tells the other man, and Edward’s expression does not lighten at the acceptance. Jasper’s voice was harsh. “You’re a gossip with no one listening, you are a near full-grown man still in need of a guardian. Edward, if I considered us equals you would have my ire, but fortunately I will not blame a boy.” Jasper’s face and tone became mocking, and at the end he begins to smile, and the unruined side of his side is almost handsome for his falseness.

As Jasper had spoken each jab, Edward’s face flushed a brighter and more vivid red, and he stands quickly, the chair clattering noisily. “I see! Well then I should thank you  _sincerely_  for your condescension!” Edward hisses. “I shall leave you with your new wife; I too hope you can one day be as comfortable with her as a dear friend would be.” The last words were bitten out as Edward grabbed up his hat and stormed towards the door.

“Good night to you too, Teddy!” Jasper called out cheerfully. As soon as the door was slammed shut, he let the smile drop from his face. Though the piano-teacher-cum-mail-man was only a scant few years younger than he; the man was ferociously intuitive in a way that unnerved most people. But Jasper was usually much milder with him; he had lied, Edward's violation angered with greatly. Jasper was also extremely unhappy that Edward had seen through him too.

Seeing the two of them sitting and chatting like anything, had made Jasper boyishly, irrationally jealous. It was the exact nature he had wished to have with his future companion. He knew no woman would ever see him as anything but a monster, it was as The Poet said;  _war is hell, making demons of men_.

He had hoped, had planned on striving for friendship. To live as cousins with a woman, who would gain the protection and freedom of a married lady, in return for keeping things in order in the house and occupying the space Jasper had begun to loathe.

Instead … he had a very unflinching actress. Little Mary-A was all too ready to pretend to love him. She was so deft at it; even Jasper, who was usually easily able to observe people’s reactions, wasn’t able to glean her first true reaction to his face.

It had been almost gratifying, at first. Jasper was flattered that the little woman wanted so much to be polite. He had planned, at the first sign of her faltering, to assure her that he was all understanding.

But the plan had not come to fruition at all. Alice  _never_  faltered. She perked up when he entered a room, she wandered over to peer at his activities, she was doting and bashful when she wasn’t endearingly brash.

Jasper could barely stand it. Worse, he was unable to address it; for to call attention to her conduct would only make it awkward between them. It seemed villainous, to him, to force her drop her act and simply be frightened of him because her efforts were for naught.

She was obvious trying hard to be pleasing, and Jasper wasn’t going to be acrimonious. He would simply have to keep his own wits about him; he had to set the situation with calm felicity and give her time to settle in and mirror him.

The door to the workroom opened, breaking Jasper out of his musings as Alice returned, glancing about the room. “I was hoping to have a parting word! Commissioning trousers and running off!” She huffed at Edward’s disappearance. “But I’ll not complain of getting you to myself.” Alice’s eyes rested on him and she sat next to him and beamed.

Jasper shifted away slightly. “Your first commission here, how very good.” He told her candidly. He watched her coy thanks with careful solemnity. It would be too easy, if he allowed, to bolster himself with Alice’s performance; to respond and encourage her and fool himself. But that would make him the biggest villain of all; to trap the poor woman into this love charade and blind himself in the process.

He watched her as she busted about, getting supper started and humming some little tune from the radio show she enjoyed. He had to keep a close eye on her, because her overt acceptance of their circumstance told him all he needed to know. Whatever she had left, wherever she was from, must have been so horrid, so vile, that playing wife to a freak was preferable.

Jasper couldn’t be easy until he found it out. It almost led him to cruelty, to tell her that this was no French fairy-tale; no true love’s kiss would reveal a handsomer husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I sure I don't know the time period? Yes. Am I also sure that until at a stretch the 1930's a woman's knee was acceptable? Probably. Also Edward and Jasper's interaction was WAY harsher than I intended but oops. Also I can't for the life of me remember who The Poet Jasper quotes is, I started writing this a loong time ago.


	10. Sunday

Esme woke the first Sunday in Forks to a soft but steady rapping at the door. She manages to wrap a robe around herself, and blearily opens the door. Edward stands there, also in a robe, but looking much more awake, also more displeased. “Good morning!” He grumbles, his arms wrapped around his torso. “Carlisle goes in early to stack The Book and welcome the flock.” Edward explains, “He wanted to know if you’d like to walk with him.”

Esme certainly did not want to be out of bed when the sun was barely peeking up. “So early …” she mutters sleepily, “when do you go?” She asks him.

Edward smiles. “I do not.” He told her. So Esme agreed she would walk with the Pastor Cullen that morning. He bids her to come to the table after she was dressed; he’d made coffee and toast.

Esme goes back inside to take out her best dress. She had ironed it the night before, thankfully. She unfolds it, and something flutters to the ground. Curious, she picks up a very pretty ribbon, a very similar colour to her dress. She was confused and delighted, and glances back at where Edward closes the door to the house.

“You might not go, young man,” Esme murmurs to herself, “but I think you care for the appearance of those who do!” She hummed to herself; charmed, for once, at a young man’s notions of style.

Esme comes into the kitchen, to find Carlisle eating alone.

“Where is Ted?” Esme asks him.

Carlisle smiles. “Good morning to you as well!” He nods upstairs. “Asleep, I should imagine. It’s his favourite state of being.” He explains.

“I hope he gets up after church, I need to wash his bedsheets,” Esme says as she sits and plucks up a piece of toast. Then she drops it and blows on her burnt fingers. “That is, I did change yours yesterday,” she amends carefully, not daring to look at Carlisle.

He hums; “oh yes, please do. If he’s not out of bed, you should insist on it, he does try and live there. To be idle is to sin, even if he does not heed the Word.” Carlisle mused, sounding more so resigned than disapproving.

Esme nods, and butters her toast. She had no intention to pry; and she knew Edward spent most of the afternoon in his room.

“That’s a lovely little ribbon you have on your hat.” Carlisle says, eyes on the bonnet she hung at a peg at the door. “Not in your hair?” He questions.

That makes Esme laugh. “No grown woman wears ribbons.” She tells him. It wasn’t true these days; from what Esme had seen from city fashions and heard from Alice. But Esme always did feel a little silly wearing them; when she was a girl, she was only encouraged to wear them for the best occasions. “It _is_ nice, a surprise gift.” She tells him.

His gaze was fond. “From an admirer?” He teases.

Esme shrugs. “From a friend.” She replied confidently, thoughts on the young man currently dead to the world upstairs.

Their walk to the church was very peaceful and mostly quiet. Esme was subdued so early in the morning, and Carlisle didn’t seem to feel the need to fill the silence.

Esme did breathe out, into the foggy morning; “it _is_ lovely here.” Carlisle covered the hand she had on his elbow with his own, as though thanking her for seeing the pretty here as well.

 

Church was lively; there was a solid half hour in the very beginning, as men found their seats, some of them outright staring at Esme. The first ten other parishioners were all men. Esme gleaned some insight from sitting and waiting in the church. It was a very tiny and rough building; it reminded her mostly of a rabbit hutch.

Esme had read the newspaper article too; there were no women. That wasn’t entirely true, though. Three women introduced themselves to her; much older, pointing out their grown sons or husbands or if they were widowed, old wedding rings around their necks. They were all grandmothers too, and after they left to find their own seats, Esme realised something unhappily.

Travelling with young women had made Esme feel older, and wiser. But now, with less than a dozen other women in the room, being eyed at by men who had willingly come to a wild place. She felt distinctly younger, and not much better for it.

Esme fixed her eyes on her lap and carefully inspected a slight hole in her glove. Just in the seams, but she’d have to mend it-

“A lively bunch,” Carlisle’s voice right in front of her made her start slightly. He looked slightly concerned, but he was smiling. “Everyone is a little out of practise with their manners.” He declared at her loudly. Several men averted their gaze at his words.

“I hope you’re not too bothered.” He added in a much quieter voice.

Esme was touched that he’d asked and shook her head. “Nothing – a bit different from a room of school children.” She told him confidently.

He chuckles lightly. “I find it not too different, actually.” He says in a confiding tone; as though they were sharing a joke. “You must judge my oration and tell me where the weaknesses in _my_ teachings are.”

She agrees, very pleased as he excuses himself for newcomers. They _had_ been sharing a joke; something that made her feel it was very precious, comparing their professions.

Three men sitting in three different parts of the room shouted barely religious limericks as a crowd grew.

_“There once was a woman called Mary,_

_Who was about to have a baby,_

_She begged and she pleaded,_

_And whined and she wheedled,_

_But still she was sent to the ....”_

No other words came forth, until the man swore with frustration, and was rallied on for sprouting filth in church.

Alice was led in by Jasper then, looking very pretty and pleased on his arm. She spotted Esme and skipped over to join her. Alice seemed to make much of the same spectacle; the men didn’t so much gawk, though, as comment on her hair.

“Why is it so short, luv?” An unidentified man yelled out, and he was hushed when Jasper stood and looked over them with his one brilliant blue eye.

Alice, it seemed, was not raised in any gentlewomanly way, yells over her shoulder; “Lice, I’ll have you know!” And another round of limericks starts up again, this time with a heavy bout of laughter.

“You shouldn’t yell, dear, it’s not ladylike.” Esme reminds her but smiles as Alice gives her a kiss and shrugs carelessly.

“We are the only ladies here, Esme,” Alice points out reasonably. It wasn’t true, actually. There were at least three other women in the room; obviously firmly wives and mothers, much older, though, and looked as hardy as their men. Esme found something comforting about them; she was all but a pauper widow, doubtlessly they fared better than her. Given time, she could fare as well as any of them, too.

Esme looks past Alice and gives Jasper an encouraging smile. “Good morning,” she tells him pleasantly. He repeats her politely and doesn’t remove his hat, Esme realises; to hide his face.

_“Once there was Joe the carpenter,_

_He had a wife with a heart in her,_

_They went to Jordan,_

_It was important,_

_When they left she was much more circular,”_

 

There was a rowdy roar of laughter, and Alice looked amused, but visibly quells herself as Jasper clicks his tongue rudely, obviously annoyed at the commotion.

But there were several lulls in the commotion. The first happens when Lauren and Jessica arrive. They are escorted in at the same time; obviously planned and sat down with a younger set of men likely their husbands’ friends, and quickly become the centre of attention. There are some whispers, and Alice looks warily at Esme. As though, to the little woman, the attention of men was not at all a pleasure. But Jessica and Lauren look well pleased; chatting and laughing as they shake hands with everyone.

The second lull happens when the Mayor enters, with a very flustered-looking Isabella Swan. Bella only becomes obviously more embarrassed when she realises the amount of people watching her with interest. Unfortunately, she trips before being shown to a seat, and grows incredibly more humiliated as there’s a healthy chuckle around the room.

The young men that had hoarded Lauren and Jessica’s attentions are immediately fixated on the newer woman, as unlike her companions she has no ring. There is no hint of good manners as they shout jubilantly at the Mayor to have ‘The Swan’ sat with them, that Bella looked stricken as she obviously wishes the exact opposite.

Pastor steps in, leading her to a more sedate bench with the few matriarchs, and Bella looks relieved as the Mayor sits with the men from earlier, much to their complaints. Esme’s gaze meets Bella, and she hopes to convey some pity as the young woman waves shortly, still looking very shy.

The constant bubble of conversation persisted, with Alice telling Esme all about the lovely radio Jasper had, and how she would want to hold a dinner party to show it to everyone. Until, that is, Rosalie entered.

The quiet was much more encompassing than the others. She stood, blonde among a sea of brown curls. Esme was mildly surprised at the two young girls with her; obviously closer to twelve or thirteen, but they were the only young girls Esme had seen here.

Rosalie catches Esme’s eye and inclines her head and returned Alice’s wave with a flick of her fingers. She looks still and stony, what had been seen at the Wash Bearer’s Club and even when she had hunted her down in the of-poor-straits markets after their telegrams. The girl was nervous, incredibly so.

The McCarty’s took up the entire pew behind them and made for a rowdy bunch.

Rosalie sat abruptly directly behind Esme; causing a few of her in-laws to step past her. Esme turned in her seat to welcome her and found Rosalie’s expression sulky. She plucked up the youngest child in the brood, who wiggled and gave a squawk. “This is Sonny.” She told Esme, before the little one slipped out of her hold and toddled off. One of the younger girls sat right next to Rosalie and looked at her with a pleased grin.

“This one likes me more than the other.” Rosalie said, mentioning to the other young girl who sat a way away with her arms crossed. “I specifically asked to be left home, and no one allowed it.” Rosalie added in an injured tone.

Esme reached over to squeeze her hand. “Well I am pleased you came.”

Alice cheerfully informs Rosalie the feather in her hat is crocked, and Rosalie bossily tells her to mind her own.

Carlisle walked up to the podium, having everyone seated, and asked for quiet. He received it immediately and began his speech. His tone was strong and warm; he spoke clearly and held the attention of most of the room. Esme was enthralled and found his opinions on the scriptures both calming and stimulating.

Some of the sparse children seemed to be on their own devises, wandering around the room or being shushed for giggling; especially in the McCarty bunch. Of the adults, the most untouched sat beside Esme. Whitlock did not so much as glance at the Pastor as he spoke; the young man looked everywhere else; the windows, the other parishioners; he even met Esme’s gaze calmly several times. Alice, on the other hand, pulled out some embroidery and had been sewing almost as soon as the pastor spoke.

Esme nudged her, trying to give what she thought was a quelling look. But it must have looked very different to Alice, who only showed her the bird on the cloth with a smile.

When the service ended, a small battalion of children ran screaming from the room immediately, but after then Carlisle spoke again; “Before we depart; some community announcements.” He called, and people stayed standing but they listened. “Among our number are our promised blushing brides, I hope we work to make them feel welcomed.” He gestured only vaguely, though there was some laughter and a loud ‘ _the what?_ ’ from the crowd. Alice leant more against Jasper’s side and Rosalie stiffened in her seat. “And, a congratulation is in order – the McCarty’s have their floor!” Carlisle added with a flourish.

There was a loud commotion, stamping of feet, banging on the pews and general jubilee. It was solely from the McCarty’s themselves, though everyone seemed agreeable to the ruckus. Rosalie was to the side, angling herself away from the commotion, and staying seated.

 

Martha called a family meeting after church, and Lenore bought her dandy; who was a very slender, kittenish woman called Dandelion. Rosalie was very sure Dandelion wasn’t her real name, mostly because it was ridiculous.

Their current dilemma was whether the floor funds should be used for it yet. “But Lenny’s having the baby soon, shouldn’t we save for the doctor?” Silas asked, a worried crease in his brow. “Victoria isn’t so well.” He shook his head.

“Family discussion!” Marsha declared. “Floor, or the doctor to check Victoria again?”

Sarah and Rebecca shouted; “Victoria! Victoria!” and the two littlest boys joined in.

Rosalie felt a flash of panic, and gripped Emmett’s arm tightly, not caring if her nails scratched him. “Well, the floor’s a necessity, isn’t it?” She hissed at him.

Lenore peered at her. “You seem harried, Rosie.” She told her.

“Well, I am!” Rosalie yelled, but then she realised everyone had gone quiet and was looking at her. “I … I’m getting blisters.” Rosalie muttered, leaning more towards Lenore and mentioning to her sore feet, always, always in her thick boots. “I’m sure it’s not so bad,” she said quickly, nervous under so many pairs of eyes.

This was a family matter, after all, and she had barely stayed here. “I’m sure I’m being spoilt, it’s just … awful.” She muttered. She’d never had so many blisters before, not even when she broke in the heels her father sent away for her from Italy. She couldn’t look at her feet at all in bed; she was horrified at the state of them. Her appearance, her femininity, always meant the most to her, but she was beginning to realize that if she stayed here, neither of those things would last.

“… We need a floor, Pa.” Emmett’s voice was gentle, but he inclines his head just so towards Rosalie. Rosalie felt embarrassed, but, she _was_ glad he was taking her side.

“It’s long overdue.” Henry agrees readily. “Even my hut has a floor.”

“Victoria’s tough.” Lenore says. “Plus, Rebecca can stay with them, keep her off her feet.” The young girl agrees readily, looking excited.

“I should be there too.” Martha says.

“Ma, we fall apart without you!” Several of them wailed.

“Last time you were bedridden a month and the house _did_ almost catch fire.” Silas pointed out.

Martha looked displeased but clapped her hands. “Well, Victoria needs help, and we’ll need everyone gone to put the floors in.” She announced. Rosalie felt some acute relief. “You’ll all have to split off. Your da and I get to stay here and set timber.” She says, her tone turning fondly teasing at the end.

“Where are _we_ going?” Sarah whined.

“You and Mary go with Lenore!” Henry flicked her forehead. “Me and Em have an agreement with Mickey at the store, so we’ll take Ben too.” He tells their father.

“Sonny and Johnny go to the woods with Lenny.” Martha decided. “Let Victoria practise mothering on them.”

Silas nods. “Don’t let Mickey have you stock shelves.” He says to Henry sternly. “I’ll need you here for the timbers in the day.”

Emmett tugs her hand, which was loosely grasps in his since she’d asked about the floor. “Perhaps I could send you to Whitlock’s house?” Emmett offered. “That little woman you came with is your friend, isn’t she?” His gaze was slightly worried, and Rosalie wasn’t too sure why.

But she nods, relieved to be able to stay with her friend for some time. “That would be best.”

 

Rosalie felt a little more at ease in the Whitlock house. It was a homey type of place. What she didn’t expect, though, was just how lovelorn Alice had become. She’d been over-joyed that Rosalie was to stay for a time. Jasper had no objections, himself, seemingly pleased Emmett would stay for dinner most nights to see his wife.

But Alice would simper like anything when Jasper was in the room, though the man stayed aloof and polite. Like a guest in his own home, and Alice floated after him longingly. It unnerved Rosalie to watch; she didn’t know why at all they acted this way and it made no sense to her.

Mostly the first afternoon, he sat on the porch and whittled. “Jasper seems … solitary.” Rosalie finally decided. She had assumed that Alice and her doting nature would take up most of his free time. But for all her posturing, Alice stayed away. They stood in the work room, where Alice was fitting Rosalie to re-hem her work apron, which was fraying at the edges. It wasn’t a very durable material; before this town, the most chores Rosalie did was embroidery for cushions to give to the poor at Agnes Feast.

At her words, Alice sighs, and crosses her arms. “I think a lot of the men go out at night, but none invite him!” She snaps, looking put-out for his sake. Rosalie nods, but she’s not surprised that some would prefer to stay away from that face. “He likes Emmett, though.” Alice pipes up. Rosalie hummed and glanced out the window. Nothing but damp, thick green.

“You’re putting on weight, Rosalie.” Alice tells her, patting her stomach.

Rosalie felt herself go cold. “What?” She asked faintly.

“In your arms!” Alice declared with a grin. “Muscles!”

Rosalie clears her throat several times, and, oblivious, Alice goes to fetch her a glass of water. She uses the apron she was still wearing to dab at the corner of her eyes before Alice could come back and see the wetness. “Then why pat my belly?” Rosalie grumbles as Alice gives her the glass.

“I’m here, I could reach.” Alice told her, kneeling down again in front of her to finish pinning. Rosalie sips, and rolls the water on her tongue. She hadn’t bled yet, not once since … since her first engagement was broken. And she certainly hadn’t done anything with Emmett, his siblings behind the curtain. But she couldn’t think of that now, she didn’t want to think of it ever.

Alice hums as she finishes, and Rosalie goes to put the apron in Alice’s work-room while her hostess trots after her. “But,” Alice says, grinning, “my husband needn’t be lonely now we’ll be sharing a room –” Jasper walks in, and Alice shuts up as he drags a large rectangle of wood and canvas fabric. “What’s that?” Alice asks him sharply.

He glances at the cot, and back up to her. “I’ll sleep in here.” He explains, “The cot tucks away, it won’t be a bother.”

Alice scowls heavily. “We’re married!” She growls. “We can share a bed!”

At this, Jasper smiles indulgently, causing the twisted muscles in his face to crease oddly. “Kind of you.” He tells her, but he doesn’t sound like he means it. He nods to the other woman. “Rosalie, tell Ma McCarty I’m glad she’s got her timbers. I can help set them, if they need the hands.” Jasper says.

Rosalie snorts, “She’d got four strapping sons and a stout husband.” Her tone was droll as she hung the apron, thinking about the hearty McCartys. “You won’t be much good.” Jasper looked away and shifted a little. Alice tapped her left leg with a stern frown to Rosalie. “Oh, I didn’t mean your leg.” She tells him quickly. He inclines his head and slides the folded cot against the wall.

Alice huffed in exasperation. “I don’t want the cot in my work room!” She declared heatedly.

Jasper glances at her, seemingly surprised by her obvious agitation, but he nods once. “Then I’ll sleep by the fire, I don’t mind it.” He assured her and dragged the cot to the living room.

After he’d gone, Alice whines; “Rosalie!”

But Rosalie was curious, and almost, for a moment, amused. The little woman had all but declared she was desperate to be embraced by him. “Alice … I don’t think scaring you is his fear …” Rosalie tells her slowly, “I think _you_ scare _him_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New year, new chapter! I'm not Christian but I feel like it seems very natural and you can't tell I don't really know how church works.


	11. A Few Dinners

That morning, Esme trotted out of her sweet little cottage, to kick something off her stoop. Glancing down, she found a picture frame, pretty polished wood with a tiny bird carved in one corner. There was no picture in it. Confused, she examines it a bit closer, but there were no distinctive marks or a note with it. But she had dinner to make, so she takes the frame inside the main houses with her.

She forgets about it as she puts together a soup, only interrupted by Edward's soft greeting from a piano lesson, before he retires to his room. She was knitting while the soup simmered, when Carlisle comes in the door.

"Good night, Esme." He says with satisfaction. Esme replies the same; one darling thing about the man was simply how happy he was when he got home. He certainly greeted Esme with no little enthusiasm at night. "What is this?" He asks, leaving his bag by his desk and picking up the empty picture frame from the mantel.

"It's mysterious." She tells him, not without some relish.

He doesn't seem at all interested in the idea of a mystery and sets it back down easily. "You should put one of the redder locks of your hair in it." He suggests brightly as he dons his slippers and loosens just the first button on his shirt. Esme had assured him she'd not find it inappropriate.

The suggestion surprised and embarrasses her. She was never one to care very much about decorating things with hair; it was a fanciful notion wrapped up in too much romance. "Why would I do that?" She asks him.

"Well, it's said that fire-head women are a sign of good luck." Carlisle says thoughtfully, nodding to Edward in greeting as the boy mulled down the stairs to sit at the table.

"Good luck?" Esme asks with a laugh in her voice.

Carlisle nods firmly. "Oh yes indeed. I think Edward told me of it." He says and looks to the young man.

Edward was stretching his fingers absently and nods himself. "The Poet himself mentioned it." He says with airy confidence.

Esme chuckles at them both, but in the end, she playfully agrees. She snips a few locks, and arranges them in an almost cross state, two curved locks just touching in the middle. "There," she declared, putting it on the mantel. "See how lucky we get." She decides.

"Oh, it looks  _very_ well right there, Esme." Edward made a show of saying. Esme smiled at his gentle teasing. "Do you think it'll stay there?" Edward asks, turning to Carlisle.

Carlisle was buried deeply in some sort of religious tome, and mumbles something affirmative. It struck Esme much later as a strange question to ask.

But the next day, Esme finds the little frame gone. "Edward, did we decide my hair wasn't so lucky?" She asks the man.

Edward shrugged. "I think Carlisle didn't want it to get lost." He explained, though it didn't explain much. Esme was surprised that the man hadn't liked it; he'd suggested it after all. But men were prone to whatever fanciful fit they liked; Esme knew her old husband certainly liked changing his moods and words on her.

She shook her head and decided to put it aside. It was a little thing, after all, and she firmly refused to let her past make her nervous.

 

Rosalie was eating dinner with Alice and Jasper. Emmett had left in the early afternoon after begging off a meal; so it was up to Alice to make ham and cheese criss-cross for only three. Rosalie wasn't sure if it was because Alice was a painfully mediocre cook. Perhaps Rosalie was picky about food; she'd been a terror when she was a young girl, but Alice had yet to make anything more than 'just fine'.

But Alice was always so very pleased with her finished dish, and Jasper eats quickly and with no fuss; he'd even supply a genuine-sounding compliment if Alice asked. So Rosalie did not complain about her friend's attempt at cookery. She was surprised, though, at the amount of patience Jasper had for the little woman. He answered every one of the questions she peppered him with, slowly and calmly.

At dinner, Alice  _fussed_ ; smoothing his shirt at his shoulders, asking him to wash his hands a second time, reminding him that she sat at that chair now and he took the one to the right. He went and stopped and sat as she instructed, and Rosalie marvelled at his reserve. These little things seemed very important to Alice; she sighed sadly over a small burn Jasper had on his hand, looking at it miserably. She didn't like the green stain of grass on his sleeve, it seemed to draw her ire. Rosalie had no clue why on earth it all mattered and it seemed Jasper was just as perplexed.

Suddenly there was a loud bang at the window. Jasper jolted so hard he nearly fell off his chair, and Rosalie was startled too. Alice just rolled her eyes. It was Emmett, grinning at the window near the sink. "Hello friends!" He declared cheerfully.

Alice frowns as she turns around to look at him. "Emmett, I didn't make enough food …." She says, her tone almost sullen. She was upset; because in her dream last night; Jasper and Rosalie sat at her ham and cheese; and Jasper had given her a kiss as he cleared his plate. But he hadn't had a grass stain on his sleeve or a burn on his hand. So, it was a possibility that wasn't to come to fruition.

Emmett smiles easily, his eyes wider than normal. "Well, that's alright, because we have places to be!" He says, and it clicks in Rosalie's head; Emmett really didn't like Alice's cooking at all. It's very likely he went to eat his mother's always-excellent dinner and come back.

"Yorkie is holding a party! Shall we go?" Emmett asks looking at Rosalie now, eyebrows raised. Rosalie nodded, amused mostly at her own thoughts from before, but Emmett looks pleased that she agreed. Rosalie did want to go; it would be her first foray into society here.

Alice claps her hands, and looks to Jasper. "I do love parties," she confides in him softly, "may we go too?"

Jasper looks at Alice, and then to Emmett. The big man shrugs and plops his chin onto the window ledge. "It'll be a small party." He says hopefully, answering some unspoken question of Jasper's. But Jasper's expression was stony and pained.

Jasper turns to his wife. "I think not." He tells her. "I never go, unless it's for church." He explains to Alice's confused look and taps his own mangled cheek. "My face … puts a damper on things."

Rosalie glances down at her plate, uncomfortable, and Emmett frowns with no small amount of pity. Alice blinks, looking surprised, before she beams quickly. Her face pulled so tight her eyes almost close and its impossible to glean her feelings. "Oh, I must dress you, Rosie!" She declared.

Rosalie and Alice lock themselves in the guest room to prepare. Alice picks through the luggage Rosalie had brought with her, and Rosalie brushed through her hair.

"I'll have Emmett escort you too." Rosalie assures her primly, focusing on her own reflection in the mirror. She was not attending her first party with no friends with her. She glances at Alice, to see her absently shake her head. "Or have one of his brothers do it." She adds.

Alice only shakes her head again, shifting through her petticoats. "No, I shan't go without my husband." Alice told her, smirking just a little. Rosalie was surprised Alice wasn't bothered; if there was a party and she wasn't to go, Rosalie would have a fit. "Though while you're away I have … other plans." Alice says, her face delicate as she looked at Rosalie with meaning.

Rosalie didn't entirely think she understood the meaning, until Alice makes a surprisingly obscene gesture with her mouth and fingers. Rosalie blinks and laughs in a startled way. "Well, I'll leave you to it." She tells her with a grin.

Alice nods, and pulls out a garment from the suitcase. "Wear this! It's so lovely!" Alice declares, pulling out a sweet light pink frock that Rosalie liked for the summer months. But it was chilly here. "Wonderful …" Alice murmurs, stroking her fingers over the fabric with reverence.

Rosalie looked at the young woman and wavered. Alice wore very stylish clothes, but made of cheap fabric. Rosie knew this wasn't a woman who was used to luxury. She usually didn't let people sway her decisions; it wasn't in her nature to consider other people's opinions of her unless they were positive. Rosalie nods as Alice glances at her.

"Yes, it's one of my favourites." Rosalie told her friend, who smiled largely. She got dressed quickly, and Alice helped pin her hair. She was growing excited; finally, being able to see some society.

She steps out with Alice, and sees Emmett and Jasper standing by the front door, talking idly.

Emmett stares, transfixed, while Jasper inclines his head. "You look very pretty, Rosie." Jasper says kindly, but his gaze doesn't seem to linger, and Alice only nods with agreement.

Rosalie smooths her dress over her hips, because she was comely, and smiled. "Thank you." She tells him and snaps her fingers in front of Emmett's face. "I think we should get going?" She prompts.

"Oh! Yes!" Emmett blinks rapidly, beginning to grin at his own stupor, and stuck out his elbow so fast he almost hits Alice in the face with it. But Alice managed to duck out of the way, latching onto Jasper's side, while Rosalie took the offered arm.

"We'll be back later," she tells the Whitlocks, and Alice smiles with a nod and Jasper bids them goodbye.

 

Esme made supper much earlier than she normally would in preparation for tonight. It was the first night that they went to the 'funhouse'. The brothel on the edge of town. Carlisle had let her know this morning; and Esme had spent all day worrying over how she was to approach this situation. She had no-one to consult on such a delicate matter, nor would she be comfortable enough to do so if she did.

Carlisle sent Esme home a few hours before him to give her some 'good Christian leisure time', by which he suggested a nap; as they were leaving after dinner and wouldn't come home until late. Esme had left cheerily enough, but the façade dropped when she got home. She knew Edward was still in town, giving piano lessons. Left alone, Esme cleaned and tried to focus on different tasks, any tasks at all. It all left Esme with a lot of time to think, and worry, and speculation.

Carlisle returned at his usual time and picked up on Esme's mood quickly. "Is there something wrong?" He asked her, brow furrowed as she solemnly dished out soup.

She sat quickly and tucked her hands into her lap, staring down at the table. "I don't … want to make the women think that I look down on them …." She said carefully, nervous at seeming squeamish in front of her employer, and condescending in front of her friend. "But I'm not a bold woman; I don't speak about physical – physicality with any ease." She explained nervously, heat rushing to her face with embarrassment.

At that, Carlisle laughed lightly. "Travelled from Illinois to Arizona to here, and thinks she's not bold?" He asks, seemingly to himself. "You'll get along just fine with them all; they don't want to do anything to scare you off." He assured Esme lightly. "Rather than that, there's no helping it." He added, and at this his voice is slightly sterner.

Esme nodded again, quickly; because he was right. Carlisle had made it clear from the beginning that he expected her to assist him with the 'fallen women', and in the end; regardless of the girls – Esme had a job to do.

The front door opened, and Edward stuck his copper head in the doorway, cheeks flushed from the cold outside. "What is this?" He asked them both in lieu of a greeting. Esme pointedly said hello as he walked in. Edward hummed vaguely at her in response as he folded himself into his usual chair and reached for the soup.

One thing that had taken Esme off-guard was how casually impolite both men had become without polite society. They rarely bid each other good-bye, or hello, or engaged in any meaningful pleasantries. Edward was quite abrupt in his manner, seeming to lack any scruples about asking prying or personal questions. It seems Carlisle was more than able to indulge him, but Esme had much more reserve. As it stood; Edward had made it clear it was up to Esme to set her own boundaries in his conversation, which he would be more than happy to abide. It had been a lesson in being patient and exact.

Carlisle passed him a bread roll as he asked affably; "How went the lessons, Ted?"

"Well enough, we have no prodigies here." Edward replied with an eyeroll. Edward's gaze landed on Esme, and he frowned. "You seem troubled." He told her.

"It's not anything." She assured him immediately, but he continued to hold her gaze. "I don't want the young ladies to believe I think badly of them." She said explained after a pause.

"I think you just don't want to hear about the more delicate parts of their occupation." Edward said, returning to his food as Esme's flush reached her ears. But it was true; and she couldn't berate him for pointing it out.

She'd tried to rally against his blunt observations before and over something trivial.

 

_Esme had observed, with some surprise, that for such a healthy young man, Edward was rarely out of bed before noon. But one morning she had found him up very early, and ready to leave the house before breakfast._

_"I couldn't stand slothfulness in a man when I was a young girl, it's a favourable change, Edward." Esme told him brightly. "Shall I interrogate you as to your plans today?"_

_Edward went very pale, except for two red spots on his cheeks. "Well, you aren't young any longer, I dare say." He said archly, and a moment too late, Esme realised he must have taken her attitude to be patronising. "And yet not old enough to be my mother. It seems you could also not stand any steadfastness of character in men, as a young girl, or an even temper." He continued blithely._

_Esme gaped, and felt a deep prickle of hurt. "I'd ask you not to lie, young man." She said severely. "Any young girl can't stand a liar."_

_At that, Edward seemed angrier than ever. "A liar I am not! That look you occasionally get is that of a skittish horse, and perhaps my plans for today are to simply avoid your ceaseless fretting." Edward had stormed off without another word, and Esme was left very shocked and upset._

_Uncomfortable as the house stood, Carlisle had come to see her a few hours after._

_Esme had calmed down significantly by the time Carlisle was there, smiling softly. "I'm sorry for Edward." The man said gently. "He's feeling very poorly, now. He'd like to apologize."_

_Esme waved away the suggestion. "There's no need; it was something silly, after all." She conceded; her own reaction had embarrassed her, in the end. And, a rather large part of her was loath to be any sort of trouble to her employer. She could simply be fired, after all; and an angry man, even as young as Edward, still frightened her. She didn't want to go back and see him._

_Carlisle seemed to take her words in for a moment, glancing off to the side before meeting her gaze again. "… Regardless, it upset you." He said softly. "He's prone to tempers; he's too prideful to stand being called a liar." He explained._

_Esme could glean that much; the man's shoulders had hackled when she'd said the word to him, however lightly. "Well, he wasn't." Esme admitted. "Lying, that is." She added._

_But Carlisle only shook his head gently. "Regardless, do let him say sorry; it'll be good for his manners, if nothing else." Carlisle offered his elbow to take, and Esme grimly grasped it, and was led back into the house._

_She had fretted for nothing; Edward was all lamentable apology, and meekly asked if she'd spend the rest of the night listening to him play. Esme was delighted; for his soft-spoken words, and his wonderful playing._

_It was after he showed her a newer piece he had been working on, that he had explained further. "I wish you weren't so taken aback when something small changes. It'll never mean anything bad, for you." Edward said, looking both awkward and delicate._

_Esme huffed, almost amused at how quickly the young man was able to needle her. "I know it doesn't. It's a fear that takes a while to fade, but I promise it will." She assured him._

_"I promise we won't do anything to make you scared." Edward said, though he follows it with a grimace. "Well, I won't shout at you anymore."_

_"I'm not afraid of you." Esme told him, bumping his shoulder playfully. "We won't talk about what young girls like in men anymore." She added, and at that, he looked awfully relieved._

_Esme was delighted again, for the luckiest happenstance that had her secure in the company of two very kind men._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly Esme in the next chapter, also should warn for **abortions** at the brothel. Also, I have been ignoring it but **Edward and Bella are not ending up together in this story** it's pretty much the exact same pairings as my other stories, I just like updating tags as I go. Sorry I felt awkward and spoiler-y but now it's gone on too long.


	12. First Time To The Funhouse

The rest of dinner went quietly but well, and Esme did her best to act unfettered by her worries; definitely because Carlisle levelled her with such kind and happy looks occasionally, as though trying to buck up her spirits.

“They don’t bite, Esme.” Edward pointed out during the middle of their meal, his tone light as Carlisle clucks at him with the corners of his mouth turned down.

Now, on the night that Esme was to visit the funhouse for the first time; Edward offered the scrub the dishes, and Esme and Carlisle set off on foot for the other end of town. Carlisle walked with Esme’s hand in the corner of his arm and her other hand gripping his, as it was dark, and the torch only illuminated so much. They didn’t walk through town, but, at Carlisle gentle leading, went through the woods and around.

“Needn’t have prying eyes.” He explained gently. Esme nodded once, but the terrain surrounding the town was much more precarious and foreign to her.

Esme gasped as she slipped on a loose stone, and Carlisle gripped her hand tighter and paused to let her right herself.

“I am sorry; but I’d not have the girls come to the house.” Carlisle explains as Esme tries not to breathe half so harshly at the trip. “Not for shame, but it frightens them; they say they hear things in the woods at night.” He continues, and Esme is too busy concentrating as she grips his arm with both hands while trying not to cling to him.

Esme didn’t say much, and the closer they came to the boisterous, loud house, the more frightened she became. The howling voices of men she recognised from the church were indeed there; but now louder and gruffer than they had been on Sunday.

The ‘Funhouse’ as it was called, was very gaudy. Amidst the green and brown of the surroundings; the house was bright yellow, with blue windows and a big purple door. Painted extremely poorly, Esme’s expert eye told her, but never-the-less the swelling of the damp wood told her it wouldn’t be a structure that stood the test of time.

It was new enough she didn’t feel uneasy entering it; thinking the roof would sag in and collapse on her head; just yet. She told as much to Carlisle; perhaps a little bit hoping to impress him with her own knowledge from a carpeting family. Carlisle, for his part, does seem surprised, and hums as they walk in, glancing up.

It was a large parlour with couches, chairs and cushions all colourful and a little frayed. Nearly all surfaces where occupied with someone. The din was loud and rippled like the tides. Two card games had most of the attention; though a shoeless man sat on a table and trilled a wooden flute as a woman in only her petticoat sang a warbling rhyme about ‘ripe pork and her cork’. None of the women were as dressed as Esme; but that much she had expected.

“None too shocking?” Carlisle asked her, close to her ear to be heard over the din.

Regardless, the closeness flusters her a little. “Reminds me of the laundry, though I only worked there a week.” Esme admits. The first job after she left her husband; red-faced women, bone-tired from scrubbing and hauling cloth, stripping off their uniforms and clamouring about. “Though these girls do not have the ripped and peeling elbows, and powdered faces.” Esme adds. She had been fired from the laundry, of course - not fast enough.

Carlisle seems to almost speak, his lips brushing her ear, but a glass shatters in the room and he pulls back. Esme rubs her ear.

There was a shabby hallway with stairs in painted gold railings leading up to muted light. Several men saluted Esme, claiming her ‘more a lady than these cats’. Esme scowled and ignored them but held a little tighter to Carlisle’s arm. Carlisle doesn’t go very far inside, only to speak with an important-looking woman with a large, ornate feather in her hair. The woman glances at Esme several times, her red wax lips smiling largely. It was too noisy for Esme to hear him.

There’s a clumsy hand on Esme’s, and she jerks it back. It’s one of the patients from throughout the week; a passing farmhand that has torn open the skin of his arm.

“Don’t fret over these pussies, Nurse Evenson!” He declared, the woman under his arm giggling and sour-swelling with drink. “They’re hardly worth the trouble!” He continued gallantly, swaying lightly on his feet.

Esme hadn’t the patience to spare on the customers of the girls when she was to treat them in this house. They could have all her kindness outside of it. “Everyone is worth something,” Esme told him coolly, brushing off his hand, “that’s enough.” She added, and, the miffed man was led away.

“The doctor’s here girls!” The Feather called, through the doorway to the hall. Esme doesn’t hear Carlisle’s response, and Carlisle leads her to the stairs and they go up.

Carlisle pauses outside one of the doors; a striking violet colour. “Are you ready?” He asks her quietly. Esme gathers up her courage and pressed it to her heart, nods once as he opens a door only partially closed.

“Hello Jemima.” Carlisle said softly, and a woman smiles back at him, looking nervous.

Jemima seems to be the same age as Esme; and quite a bit larger. Esme realises that while the woman is fatter than her, she is also, it seemed, slightly pregnant, her hands on her stomach. Esme finds herself ushered forward.

“My new assistant, Esme,” Carlisle introduces her, and steps away to set back his bag and gather supplies. Jemima holds out a hand, and Esme takes it, shaking gently.

“How do you do?” Esme asked her pleasantly.

Jemima gazed at her. “Very inundated.” She replied. Esme nodded, and glanced at Carlisle to see if he needed assistance.

But only a few beats of uncomfortable silence took Esme’s shyness away. She may not know this procedure; but she knew a good bedside manner.

“Sit, please,” Esme ushered her back into her chair. “I couldn’t keep you standing.”  Esme admonishes herself lightly, and Jemima sits a little easier with her hand on her back.

The woman sits with a faint grunt. “I heard you came from the city.”

“It was a city, to be sure.” Esme inclined her head with a smile. “May I ask where you came from?” She asked kindly.

“You may not.” The reply wasn’t kind or harsh, but firm. Esme nodded, not entirely surprised. Behind her, she could hear Carlisle shuffling something from the tools he brought; but he had his back to them both.

Esme knew that the doctor’s manner was so harsh, and for such a delicate procedure, she was want to try again. “It’s a lovely robe.” Esme said, mentioning to the pretty garment wrapped around the woman’s shoulders.

Jemima touched the fabric absently, inclining her head, thanking her in a faint voice.

“Lead her to the stool, if you please.” Carlisle broke in gently, and Esme jumped slightly with nerves. It was the man’s gentle manner that unnerved her. Unlike the gruff and stern demeanour with the loggers and farmers; here, he was all smiles and benign pleasantness. More like himself at the dinner table. Esme realised, as she watched him clasp Jemima’s hand; that he must have been reserving all his bedside manner for these girls. “Jemima, this is Esme’s first time assisting, we must do our best to make her feel comfortable.” Carlisle said, his tone warm and teasing.

“Of course, doctor.” Jemima said graciously, a pretty blush raising in her cheeks. “You can stand by me, Nurse Evenson.”

Esme smiled and did so, taken by the woman’s cheery manner. Jemima spoke softly, about very little; a book she was reading, an article she saw in the paper about magicians and trickers, and Esme found themselves well amused with each other, as, quiet and impermeable, Carlisle had his gold head bowed.

Only a few times did Esme see Jemima’s discomfort at his ministrations; a grunt or a short gasp, and Esme was fetching a glass of water or hissing in sympathy. Esme felt a little off her guard; she was sure she would be learning the actual medical procedure; but Carlisle seemed more than deft on his own. She worried she was being too blasé about what was happening; it was, after all, a crime. Surely, crimes should be committed in secrecy, in the dead of night?

Well, it was night, but the din downstairs leaked through the floorboards, and Esme was chuckling as Jemima declared _The Monk_ to be little more than drivel; there was no surprise a lascivious man would go to hell. “All men succumb!” She argued, before looking between her own legs. “Well, some in gentler ways than others.” She conceded calmly.

At that, Carlisle raised his eyes for the first time, and laughed lightly. “Is this proof of my defeat?” He asked, scalpel in hand. Esme felt a small, frightened shiver up her spine, but just for a moment. She was too old for timidness, after all.

Jemima nodded, looking all of a sudden solemn. “Of course, after all, asking such a comely woman to abandon all she knows and do nothing but wait on you?” Jemima asks, her eyes flicking over to Esme, and she could see the humour in them. “Evil.” She whispers with a nod. Carlisle and Esme both laughed at that.

It was quick, and furtive. Esme couldn’t exactly glean what Carlisle had been able to achieve. It seemed just as he was standing, he was having her pack everything away, and helping Jemima to her feet. She cleaned his tools and burnt the rags as he instructed.

“If you would go to the Madame and collect the payment,” Carlisle prompted her gently, mindful of Jemima’s rest. “You saw her with the feather.” He adds.

Esme nods, and heads downstairs. She’s sure it’s not as rowdy as before, but regardless it frays her nerves. She locates Madame Feather, and the woman looks delighted to see her.

“Oh how _wonderful_!” The woman trills as Esme tries to explain that they had finished. Esme has an envelope pressed into her hands and is kissed pulply on each cheek. Startled, she was left with nothing else to do but head back upstairs, all without knowing the woman’s name. Though, she supposed, that might be purposeful.

By the time Esme was back to the room, Carlisle had tucked Jemima into bed, and was ushering her back out the door after a quick good-bye.

 

They walked back in silence, and Carlisle glances at her periodically. It seemed he could tell something had made her restless.

“May I ask what troubles you?” He asked, petting the hand on his elbow as Esme glanced up at him.

Esme shakes her head. “I thought I would need to be of more … assistance.” She said haltingly.

Carlisle blinked, eyes wide, before he shook his head adamantly. “But you were of the best help!” He argued.

Esme scowled; she had done nothing. “Are you trying to keep me in the dark?” She demanded, rankled at the idea of being treating like a child, she was too old by far. “I _am_ capable of more than a little hand-petting!”

Carlisle ducked his head, but not out of any bashfulness or shame. “Esme … I have no plans to put you in danger.” He explained softly, meeting her gaze firmly. “If this is discovered … you can answer that you do not know what happens.” He continues calmly. The idea, though, puts dark images in her thoughts, of police and courtrooms. “For what did you see? _Nothing_.” He says with feeling. “I will not risk you – my only plans were for a nurse, not an accomplice.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Carlisle looked slightly grim, but Esme’s mind was filled with the words; _I will not risk you_. She couldn’t remember the last time someone thought she needed protection. It shocked her a little, but made her chest feel very warm. She didn’t enjoy the stilted silence that settled, diffusing the tension by gently initiating a conversation that lasted until they reached home.

 

Rosalie walks quietly with Emmett across town. It wasn’t a big town, and Rosalie was a stout woman, so the walk didn’t bother her. Even if she got dust on her hems, she would still be the prettiest woman there. She nearly always was.

Emmett sighs a little, with contentedness. “It’s a good night for it.” He tells her conversationally. “Lenore and her dandy might be there too. No one else wanted to come!” Emmett says, exasperated. “Putting in the floor is putting them in a foul mood.” He added.

Rosalie hummed, and glanced around. No one was here; the town was empty and quiet. “Who is Dandy to Lenore?” She asks.

Emmett seems to ponder, but not very deeply. “Well, they’re married. Dandy put our last name on the census form last year.” Emmett tells her, his tone cheerful. “Dandy is a good woman, my sister not so much. Lenore always helped da with work, she’s coarse and big and she doesn’t make a very good woman, see.” Emmett explained, “Dandy’s from the whorehouse.” He adds but freezes just as quickly. Rosalie is a little surprised, but it’s hardly the first time she’d heard foul language, and he mutters an apology.

But that gaudy house, a little out of town. She knew near nothing about it, but there was gambling, Rosalie was told sternly by Martha a few days after she arrived.

“I’ll have none of _my_ kin there.” Martha had informed her. Rosalie didn’t spare it much thought; it was the only thing loud and rowdy at night though, in this quiet town. The girls that worked there didn’t come into town often; they came in threes or fours and laughed raucously among themselves and socialised with no one else.

Emmett clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable with his slip. “But she came to Lenore when she called for her, so I like her very much.” Emmett said genuinely. Rosalie nods a little, but she had a lot to think about. It didn’t occur to her that the women from that house were to associate with the townspeople in the daytime, or that they were allowed to leave. Rosalie is surprised that the McCarty family would welcome a fallen woman with open arms, though.

Well, perhaps that the McCarty’s would doesn’t surprise her, rather that she, Rosalie Hale, would ever have known anyone like it. Though, she reminded herself, she was a McCarty now too.

Something else flickers in her mind. “… Did you ever go to that house?” Rosalie asked, trying to keep her tone light. Surely, not being the only object of Emmett’s … physical needs, would reassure her. Perhaps even relieve her. But she was again surprised that it didn’t. That the answer being negative mattered to her greatly. _She_ had no desire to copulate with him, she had much more important things on her mind. But she certainly didn’t like the idea of her husband going elsewhere. It made her belly feel even heavier than she thought it had lately. But the idea wavered in her mind and she didn’t want to dwell.

Emmett was silent for a time, and Rosalie refused to allow it to make her nervous.  Finally, he stopped walking entirely and faced her fully. “Rosalie,” he began gravely, his expression so serious that Rosalie felt a dreadful tingle in her face. “They’d have no sense letting me in the door; I never have any money.” His face then broke out into a sunny grin, and she slapped his arm with frustration. The nerve of him! Getting her so worked up! But he just laughs and tugs her along the road again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to write when you don't bother with research, and let me tell you I don't understand human anatomy enough to even try. I focus a lot on Esme's age because Smeyer was on something saying a 26 year-old has a 'maternal' energy with a bunch of teenagers. But more age things will come up it'll be fun.


	13. Yorkie Party

Rosalie found the misty street eerie. That really was all it took to make this town; one long stretch of earth and people. She supposed perhaps all cities in this country started much the same way. Even her own Rochester, many generations ago. Rosalie wasn't able to spend time musing on the thoughts of progress, as her husband's gait was not so accommodating. He had the long and loping stride of a man too used to the company of other men.

Rosalie was puffing slightly to keep up, before she finally planted both feet firmly. "Emmett, I will _not_ be hurried along!" She snapped.

He stopped and looked back at her, startled. "Oh! I meant nothing like," he assured her easily, his custom grin spreading over his face, "just trying to keep that fast city pace. More besides, legs are long enough to match me step." He reasoned, his eyes flicking over her frame.

Rosalie brushed over the fabric of her frock, keeping her lips pursed carefully until Emmett looked her in the eye again. "What would you know of them?" She asked icily. But Emmett turned back around, looking into the calm forest. Rosalie felt indignant apprehension as he turned his face away. "I only ask that you slow down."

"Shall!" He chirped, and set off at much the same pace as before.

Rosalie scowled at his impertinence. She was too far into the wilderness to consider yelling too unlady-like. "Emmett!" She exclaimed, her tone more exasperated than angry. Emmett stopped again, and almost glanced back at her.

"Waiting." He prompted, and she deliberate and careful placed each shoe, one after the other, and before she was two paces behind him, he charged off again, before halting

"This is most ungracious!" She hisses, knowing he could hear her, though he doesn't respond.

This incredibly irritating pendulum-type of walk lasted until Emmett began to climb a short set of stairs to a front door. Rosalie could only assume, as her husband certainly wasn't to tell her, that it was the Yorkie house. The house was modest, but a palace compared to the McCarty hall. The revelry is full underway when Emmett knocks.

Eric opens the door, and he’d surely be a dandy if the fashions didn’t take so long to make it up to this corner of the country. His top hat was sitting proudly atop his head, and Rosalie wasn’t sure if he meant to wear it mockingly or not. “It’s Jack!” Eric declares, and Emmett’s face screws up with confused amusement. “Jack Of All Trades! Come in, come in!” He laughs, and Emmett does too as he leads Rosalie through the door.

He takes Rosalie’s coat, and goes to hang it on the already full pegs. “Oh,” Emmett says, mentioning for Rosalie not to move, “before – over here, man!” Emmett takes Eric’s arm and leads him to the side, whispering gleefully. Rosalie doesn’t appreciate being left out, but she does wait. After all, it couldn’t be very important if she didn’t know about it.

Eric nods and comes straight to Rosie with a wide smile. “Rosalie, as I _am_ hosting,” Eric begins grandly, “I must introduce you to everyone!”

Rosalie was surprised, quite a bit, that Emmett had remembered that line from her letters. She looks over at his widely grinning face, and feels a little touched. The gesture made her feel quite looked after. “Truly?” She asked, putting on airs and holding her shoulders back. “Well, alright. It’s only proper.” She agrees, taking Eric’s hand as he offers it and leads her through to the parlour, Emmett trotting after them.

Eric throws open the door with a bang, and Rosalie hisses at the force. For his posturing, he didn’t have the decorum Rosalie was used to seeing in the Master of Ceremonies. “Everyone!” Eric declared, waving widely, “I am happy to present; Mrs Rosalie McCarty!” He announced, and tugged Rosalie in front of him.

Jessica, Mr Newton, Bella Swan and Lauren all stare at the entrance. Rosalie feels a bit foolish, such showmanship for three other people. Her insides twist with embarrassment, and the always-accompanying fury that usually followed anything that embarrassed her.

Jessica grins with amusement. “Oh, why it’s such a pleasure to meet you!” She simpers, coming up and taking Rosalie’s arm to sit her on a couch. A cold feeling was spreading through her core, Rosalie realised that the grand introduction was the point; they were mocking her.

“Indeed!” Lauren agreed, her cheeks red with some drink. They were half-way through a card game. Rosalie glanced at the door to see Emmett taking a schooner of some type of ardent spirit. She numbly feels her smile as he caught her eye and grins at her.

She was livid at the belittling, and the terse latter-half of their walk here, but refused to show it. There’d be time for that later. “… Yes, alright,” she said gruffly, “it’s good to see you all too.” She added, and there was a general chuckle, and a promise to deal her into the next game.

She sat nicely, feeling the anger simmer under her skin and her temples throbbed with the beating of her heart. Rosalie had travelled far away from anything familiar; her routines and social curtesy was something she wanted to cling to, something she could rely on. And Emmett had made a joke of her. She wouldn’t have even considered this a party back home; she certainly wouldn’t have worn one of her best dresses to it. She felt over-dressed and foolish, and she loathed it.

She sips from a glass that Eric hands her, and Emmett sits close to her side. She carefully places a hand on his knee, and glances up at him, watching as he smiles around his glass and doesn’t meet her eye.

They play one game, which Rosalie comes second, and agrees to one more game.

It was almost laughably simple to lead Emmett to blush so nicely across his cheeks. She leans against his side and all she had to do is rest her hand on his shoulder and her head on his chest as she plays. He strokes a hand down her arm, and no one comments on the lack of decency. “After, you’ll take me home?” She asked quietly in a breathy voice.

Emmett shifts a little and must clear his throat before replying. “… Y-yes. If you’d like.” His voice still breaks a little.

Rosalie squeezes his shoulder and smiles nicely. “I would.”

 

Emmett readies them to leave near immediately after the game ends; Rosalie loses, because she was constantly busying herself stroking a hand over Emmett's hair to tidying him up and leaning up and proffering her cheek for a good-luck kiss before she showed her hand. Rosalie doesn’t stay and speak to Jessica or Lauren, though they gave her infuriatingly knowing looks; as though they knew what she was thinking. As though they were Madeline Van Houser and her cronies, who assumed whatever they pleased, whenever they pleased.

So she left and waited at the front of the house with only marginally cordial farewells. Rosalie had not wanted to stick around and hear Emmett’s boasting. No doubt it would be something about taking his new wife to bed. It would make her plan all the sweeter, but she couldn’t bear to hear it. So she was surprised, to say the least, when Eric followed him out and wished Rosalie to pass on that he hoped Victoria would feel better soon.

She takes Emmett’s arm and he leads her back home, a little bounce in his step. But Eric’s parting words had thrown her. “What did he mean?” She asks him as they walked.

Emmett flushes at this and bites his lip. Rosalie refused to be distracted by how nice that looked. “I wasn’t sure how to get us out very quickly,” Emmett admitted, scratching the back of his neck, “so I said I was worried about Victoria and that you’d been comforting me.” He looked pleased with his efforts, too.

Rosalie was surprised. She certainly hadn’t been subtle. She couldn’t imagine any of them were convinced her amorous exhibition was out of concern. “I’m sure they didn’t believe that.” She told him, sliding a hand up his arm slowly.

Emmett grinned, but he shrugged. “They can believe what they like.” He told her. Rosalie had assumed Emmett planned on bragging about his plans with his pretty conquest; she was disconcerted that he obviously went to lengths to disguise it.

"We  _are_ married, no doubt they drew other conclusions." Rosalie continued, but at that, Emmett only hummed and chuckled a little, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm.

They continued down the path; and Rosalie came to the realisation that Martha and Silas McCarty remained firmly home. She had to change plans, quickly.

“Emmett, come this way,” Rosalie decided, taking his elbow and tugging him into the trees. Emmett agrees, though he does seem a little mystified. Rosalie didn’t know exactly where they stopped; it was late and dark and the light of the moon only offered a very vague outline of everything.

“What on earth-” Emmett began, but Rosie didn’t let him finish. She leaned forward and kissed him harshly. She could have blamed the dark on their clash of teeth and tongue, but it was really the surge of her anger and nerves. But Emmett responded with enthusiasm; his big hands slid around her waist and pulled her closer. Tightly, too tight for her to break away from and she feels panic in her gut. Rosalie squirms away quickly with a gasp.

“What?” Emmett asked, his voice slightly slurred, but his worry unmistakable.

Rosie shook her head. “Your clothes,” she said quickly, tugging at his shirtsleeves.

Emmett lets out a light, breathless laugh, but steps away and begins to work on his buttons. She watches as he shucks his shirt, and her fingers itch terribly to touch. She balls her hands into shamed fists. Emmett was handsome, Rosalie knew that as soon as she saw him. She’d seen him shirtless before, too, and always enjoyed it. It made living in that house much more bearable. But then she woke up every day to a heavy arm over her in a hovel far away from her canopy bed at home, and it considerably eased her itching fingers.

She snaps out of her daze, though, when he’s down to his johns, and working on his boots. He’s doubled over, and squinting at the laces in the pretty, if dim, moonlight.

She feels a surge of adrenaline matched with her earlier fury, and she grabs his discarded shirt and trousers, and runs. She doesn’t truly know where to hide in the forest, but she ducks behind a tree quite out of sight, and presses up against the bark, refusing to dwell on the creepy-crawlies that could be near-by. She vaguely hears Emmett cry out after her, but the blood was rushing in her ears too loudly.

Now, behind the tree, she can see him, standing and looking around. “Rosalie? Rosie!” He calls. Rosalie watches, heart in her mouth. Would he become violent, or just sulk?

Emmett puts his hands on his hips and chuckles. “… Why – why this is a fine way to treat your man!” He yelled, his laughter getting louder. “Well, we’ll see how Jasper Whitlock and his little missus takes it when I let them know how his guest behaves!”

Rosalie was confused, at first, but she realises with dawning horror what he meant to do. She stood, shocked and panicking, as she watched Emmett tromp off and out of the woods in naught but his boots and underwear. He’d left her! Or moreover, he might be under the impression that she knew how to get out of these blasted woods.

##  A Trick

Emmett was still cackling over himself as he rushed back to the path and to the Whitlock house. He had been trailing after Rosalie in that direction anyway; sure that Jasper couldn’t mind if he stayed in the guest room that night with his own wife. Remembering how sweet Rosalie was acting at the soiree made the heat coil in Emmett’s belly; and in the state of his undress he knew that was a plumb bad idea.

But she was so funny! She pinched his clothes and ran off! Emmett couldn’t wait until she told ma or Henry about it; surely, they’d mock him awfully, but it meant she was getting comfortable, enough to tease him. It made him happy; Rosie had been all quiet and reserve, until now. His lips still stung from their earlier kiss, too, and he could have skipped if he bothered to stop and retie his bootlaces.

He was still chuckling as he made it to Whitlock’s house and banged on the front door. He could hear movement inside. “Now I don’t want Alice answering – I’m not decent!” Emmett called, and Jasper’s tell-tale limp can be heard before he opened the door.

Jasper looks dishevelled. His common rigidly neat appearance belied by mussed hair and a half-buttoned shirt. His mouth was reddened, as though something had scraped across it; mostly likely another pair of lips. Emmett glanced down the hall, seeing Alice’s round little face peeking from the kitchen doorway, flushed with bright eyes and a barely-contained smile. She raises her eyebrows at him, and Emmett feels very foolish; it seemed he’s interrupted what could have happened with him and Rosie in the woods.

Jasper’s question was mulled and quiet. “Why on earth-”

“Rosie’s left me!” Emmett declared, his surprise at interrupting and his giddiness from the prank all rolling into one loud jumble in his belly. “She’s scampered off with my trousers!” He adds with a laugh.

Jasper looks amused himself, and glances back at Alice. “What a fine friend you have.” He tells her. Alice laughs too, and Emmett yells, making a show of cowering behind Jasper’s tall-if-slimmer body.

“Now don’t look, woman!” He yells at her, and Alice just laughs louder.

Jasper seems only mildly annoyed at being used as a shield and reaches up to pet Emmett’s grip on his shoulder. “Well, where has she gotten to, then?” He prompts. “You’d best get those trousers back.” He advises.

Emmett was surprised, and glances further into the house. “… She hadn’t made it back yet?” He asks Jasper. He was sure Rosalie would not have waited to crow her victory to their friends here.

“Whatever do you mean?” Alice pipes up, brow furrowed.

Emmett felt a sinking in his belly. “I thought she’d run straight back here.” He told them, but their blank expressions tell him everything he needs to know.

“I don’t think she can run in those heels.” Alice says, her voice becoming very dubious.

Jasper shakes his head. “I don’t think she could have learnt the woods that well.” He looks at Emmett pointedly, and Emmett cringes away in dawning realisation.

“… Oh no!” He moans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for literally no consistency, clothes-wise. How knows what words were for what clothes? (I actually really love fashion history I'm just lazy). Anyway, when you're married as a teenager, surely having something that grows you up quickly is disconcerting? Even if it's seen as expected, best laid plans and everything.


	14. A Hunt

Alice put on thick work boots and three pairs of socks because the boots were too big for her. She takes Jasper’s arm as Emmett hurries them back into the woods, wearing the throw rug from the couch over his shoulders for modesty’s sake. Though it covers very little of him, and he must be relieved at least their was no crowd to attract at night.  Jasper brought a torch, and Emmett a lantern, and they were all very intent of finding poor lost Rosie.

Well, Alice very much doubted a lot of harm could befall the woman in the few minutes Emmett had left her. She could just picture the woman, sitting angrily on a rock or a log. Yes, Alice was almost certain she’d be fine.

It gave her time to think about what had happened between Jasper and her before Emmett had come a knocking.

Alice was becoming giddy just thinking about it.

After the McCarty’s had left, Jasper had gone to the fire and read for a time. Alice fetched an embroidery piece she was doing and quickly sat beside him. She grew bored in due time; and asked Jasper to stand for her, so she could hem one of his jackets. She didn’t need to, and she hadn’t planned on altering it in any way, but it gave her a wonderful excuse to touch him.

Jasper was quiet and obliging throughout the process of her needling him and fluttering about with her tape measure.  “You said, in one of your letters, that you would pleat it.” He began steadily, as she smoothed her hands over his shoulders. “But you don’t have to.”

Alice was giddy with the touching she was doing; it was exciting, like she was exploring his body and he was none the wiser of her motives. “I just might, regardless!” She chirped, tickled pink that he remembered what she’d written. “Did you like my letters?” Alice asked him eagerly. “I loved yours.”

Jasper inclined his head. “I kept them in a drawer.” He told her, glancing towards the bedroom Alice slept in. “In the right bedside table.” He added.

Alice was pleased that he’d stored them so close to him as he slept. She’d realised the first night here that Alice had been given the master bedroom. It had confused her at first; she was so sure they’d sleep in the same bed.

But Jasper was from the South as well; she’s not sure what brought him up here; she could never see the past. Regardless, he was a gentleman; their marriage was so sudden, undeniably he wanted to forge some sort of courtship, so as not to rush her. And she could very well wait; being united in the flesh finally would be all the sweeter. And … she’d never been treated delicately before; gently enough, at times, of course, but with no tenderness. She revelled in it now; it felt so rightfully hers.

Alice was willing to show him they could start slowly, though. She took her time examining the sturdiness of the stitching of his buttons and took a long glance at him through her lashes.

He was beautiful; looking down at her with his piercing eyes, one blue as bright as the midday Mississippi summer sky. One grey, like an oncoming storm approaching. She was only wearing slippers, but she could still reach him; with his chin tilted down, his gaze sliding to her fingers on his buttons. Alice brushed her lips against his and pulled back just slightly.

She felt a thrill in her belly when Jasper swayed after her, pressing their lips together firmly. The next moment, his hands were gripping her hips, and she was sliding her own through his hair.

They kissed, again and again, Alice wasn’t sure for how long. Her hands fisted his hair, and in response his grip of her waist tightened, and he made a delicious keening sound in his throat.

Then Emmett had started knocking.

 

Alice couldn’t very well hold it against him though; the man was in his under-things, and though he was cheerful enough about his predicament; they couldn’t just leave him to search for Rosalie, half-nude, on his own. Alice was a little suspicious about Rosalie’s actions, though; the statuesque blonde seemed too grave to pull childish pranks, and so she couldn’t help but wonder about the cause of it all.

Jasper kept pace with Alice in the forest easily enough; despite the dark night being perilous for his shoddy knee.

Alice couldn’t See a way to find Rosalie assuredly; her power rarely worked in a way she could puzzle out. So they were relegated to lanterns and calling her name.

“Ah-ha!” Emmett’s crow was victorious, and Jasper sighed with relief. Though he seemed more focused on shaking out his leg. “Here she is! What a trickster!” Emmett was yelling, and Alice saw him up ahead, grinning at one very dark-looking woman.

Rosalie sat primly on a rock; arms crossed tightly over her chest. His clothes were a pile at her feet, and Emmett drops the lantern into her lap with no grace to dress in them. She looked furious, and Alice was a little taken aback by her image.

“Rosie; did you get hurt?” Alice asks her cautiously. She left Jasper with the torch, only roughly five feet away, and comes to Rosalie’s side.

“Little woman, I’m not dressed!” Emmett protested as he glared at Alice reproachfully. Alice shrugged; it didn’t matter to her if someone else’s husband looked improper. Her’s was all buttoned and dapper.

“I’m _fine_ , I’m ready to leave these blasted woods.” Rosalie grumbled, slipping around Emmett to take Alice’s arm. Her grip on Alice was much heavier than the little woman expected and alarmed her slightly.

“Unhurt to be sure?” Alice began examining the woman closely. Rosalie batted her away slightly but kept her grip.

“I’m just _tired_.” Rosalie mutters, incredibly in ill-humour considering the all-about success of her prank.

Emmett was clothed by then and walks behind the two of them as Jasper leads the way back to the dirt road.

“What were you thinking, running off with his trousers?” Alice asks her quietly; Jasper was a steady, silent presence in front of them, but Emmett kept chuckling to himself, and reaching out to tickle the back of Rosalie’s neck. His wife told him ‘enough’ every time; but it seemed growing up with several siblings meant Emmett thought everything said quietly was a joke.

Rosalie slapped Emmett’s hand away once more and shrugged roughly. “It’s not your business.” She says stiffly, and Alice is very uncomfortable with the brush-off. She liked knowing things; it irritated her if she was kept out. But Rosalie was obviously not in a giving mood, and they reached the road in tense silence.

Emmett ducked down to kiss the back of Rosalie’s neck loudly, before pulling away with a grin.

Rosalie gritted her teeth and spun around to glare at him. “I _said_ , enough!” She snapped. The smile is wiped off of Emmett’s face, and he looks cowed, for a moment.

“… I’m sorry,” he says sadly, “I didn’t think you’d not know your way back to the road.” He explained hastily. “In fact; I don’t know if it was brave or foolish for you to run out of sight if you didn’t!” He went right back to grinning again, and Rosalie rolled her eyes, brushing off Alice’s grip and walking down the road on her own.

Jasper grimaced, but stopped shaking out his leg again, to start off after her. Emmett was chuckling, but Alice glanced at her husband with concern.

“Is your knee alright?” She asks him quietly, letting Emmett scamper off ahead to continue pestering Rosalie, and taking the torch from Jasper.

Jasper glances at her, but nods once. “Simply a little stiff.” He says with a lopsided smile. “I was standing some time for my jacket.” He added, glancing away from her face as he speaks.

Alice giggles a little. They _had_ been kissing for some time. “Well, shall I help you stretch out when we’re back?” She offered, her nerves causing her fingers to shake a little. But she meant it; she didn’t want him straining himself at all.

But Jasper shook his head, eyes on the path ahead. “There’s no need.” He told her calmly.

Alice felt a little lost, as though they’d lose the passionate atmosphere from earlier on. “Oh, there’s _some_ need.” She insisted, trying to sound missish. She’s not sure if it works; Jasper doesn’t react to her voice at all. “You can come into the bedroom and show me where you put my letters.” She offers quickly, taking his arm and squeezing his elbow a little. “They won’t mind, it’s our house.” She added quietly.

“No!” Jasper said forcefully; much more vehemently than Alice expected, and she took an alarmed step back, the word stabbing painfully into her heart. He cleared his throat. “No …” he repeated, in a subdued voice.

They reached the house Alice slightly nervous with Jasper’s outright refusal. Rosalie stormed in and sat at the green couch, eyes blazing as brightly as the fire she stared at. She’d fallen onto the couch with the least bit of dignity and seemed to be breathing heavily.

“Quite tired after your little joke, Rose?” Jasper asked her as he removed his jacket.

“Yes.” Rosalie said in a blank voice.

Emmett hummed, his face consternation, glancing at Alice with some interest. No doubt he could hear their conversation a little. Alice felt a little defeated; their moment had passed, and for all of it Jasper had used to the walk to regain that constant, lonely distance between them.

Alice would sit by Rosalie, as the woman did genuinely seem to have no strength left, but Jasper took up her hand as she passed him.  “I’d much rather take you to the party.” Jasper says, nodding vigorously. Alice was surprised at his urgent tone, but the next moment she’s touched. He was still trying to prolong their courtship, and her kisses must have emboldened his spirits.

“What a gentleman!” She chirps, pecking his blotched cheek. “Well, I’d like to go.” She told him. She would love a public leisure outing with her husband; so far, they had only been seen in church together.

Emmett looked good-humoured as Alice cheered up too. “Shall we guard the house for you while you’re away?” He offered eagerly.

“Please!” Alice agreed. “Help yourself to the leftover criss-cross.” Alice offered him with a large smile. Emmett beamed back in response. Rosalie didn’t move or react from her seat on the sofa, and Alice leant down to kiss her blonde hair, to no reaction.

But in her surprised joy, Alice busied herself changing her frock while Jasper carefulled his Church jacket.

“They won’t be very put-out were we just to show up?” Alice asked as she left her room, fully dressed. She didn’t want to dally, adorning herself with a pearl brooch and earrings, the first thing she bought with her dressmaking wagers, and a small bunch of glass grapes tucked carefully behind her ear using the twine vine and stem.

Emmett seemed unwilling to go to the living room with his wife and lingers in the hallway. “Not at all,” he tells her easily, “we’ve scruples here.”

Alice was delighted, and reminds Emmett were the kettle was, before bidding them both goodbye as Jasper waits at the door. Rosalie said not a word after Emmett’s cheery valediction. She was sure the proud woman was pouting over her mishap in the woods and needed time to lick her wounds.

Emmett’s smile slipped from his face was he looked down at Alice’s soggy savoury dish and looked distinctly worried. “… Oh no thank you.” He muttered to it quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is back at the Yorkie party. Also Alice is really making up Jasper's motives for sleeping separate, because she's always an optimist.


	15. Yorkie Party Again

Jasper becomes increasingly uncomfortable as he walks her into town, and Alice tried to tamp down on her excitement and give way to concern.

“Is it your leg, dear?” She asks, taking up his weaker side so he could lean on her. He shakes his head, though he accepts her steadying arm. He didn’t seem to be walking with a heavier limp, either. His expression and shoulders were tense, though, as they reached Yorkie’s house, leading Alice to believe his knee may be giving him some pains than he let on.

Alice felt relief as they reached Yorkie’s house, and she steps ahead to knock on the door first. “Ah!” Yorkie yells as he opens the door, his wide eyes on Jasper. But, immediately after he laughs, high and nervous. “Whitlock, good of you to come!” He declares and ushers them inside. Jasper murmurs something about being glad for the invitation, and Yorkie gestures for Alice’s coat. “Missus, I’ll hang your things.” He tells her, and Jasper gently slides her shoulders out of her coat and hands them off. Their host leads them to a small parlour and claps his hands. “Oh – all! The Whitlocks have come.” He called.

A hush fell over the room, and it immediately makes Alice nervous. There’s only four other people in the room so Alice is not sure why they were staring.

Jessica walks up to them quickly, smiling graciously as the hostess. “Alice, hello!” She says gaily, kissing the air by each of Alice’s ears. Alice had taken Jasper’s elbow hostage, and Jessica gestures to the firm grip. “… Mr Whitlock, if I could?” She prompts. “I would very much like your wife with me.” Jasper steps away, and Alice lets him go reluctantly, as Jessica leads her to the couch Lauren was slouching in. “I  _loved_  your muff and matching hat you wore last Sunday.” Jessica gushes as they sit. “What fur was it trimmed with?”

“Rabbit.” Alice answers succinctly, and glances around.

The radio was softly playing some tune Alice didn’t know. Newton was shuffling cards and chatting animatedly to Bella, and Yorkie was clinking around the drinks trolley. There was a heavy atmosphere in the room, and Alice was suspicious that everyone was uncomfortable. “Um, is everything alright?” She asks quietly. One thing she had come to learn about Jessica was that she was, usually, quite forward. If she didn’t like Alice and Jasper’s presence in her home; it wouldn’t be subtle.

But Jessica flaps a hand urgently. “We thought perhaps you’d enjoy some … different company.” She confided lowly, head tilted close to Alice. Alice could smell the sherry on her breath.

Alice was a little miffed; she didn’t want to come off as anti-social or unfriendly, but she didn’t want to visit people often while Jasper did the property chores. “Oh, alright!” She said with feigned cheer. “How are you two settling in?” She asks, and this question was genuine curiosity.

The hostess seemed unconcerned. “Just fine,” she confirmed. “Yorkie is – oh, I should call him Eric!” Jessica collapsed into loud laughter along with Lauren and leant against each other until their giggles subsided. Alice was at least relieved that they were still entirely silly. “Oh, he’s fine!” She said breathlessly. “He works quite a lot, which it suitable for me.”

Alice glances at where Michael had discarded the deck of cards and was leaning closer to Bella’s chair to speak with her. For her part, Bella was firmly leant away.

Alice was going to say something, when Lauren slid so she was leaning mostly on Jessica’s shoulder. “Alice, we wanted to say how sorry we were.” She added quietly, but there was a hard, mean look in her eye. It wasn’t the first time someone had looked at Alice and thought her an unfortunate, and found that amusing, so Alice carefully ignored it.

Jessica nodded loosely. “Oh yes!” She agreed. “To be stuck all the way out of town with … your husband.” She ended the last part in a very quiet voice. Alice felt an unpleasant tingle spread up her arms.

“I’d demand a refund from Miss Swan.” Lauren whispered.

“I’d make her pay for my trip home!” Jessica was still nodding.

Alice felt her stomach twisting into knots. She wasn’t going to listen to these girls; because that’s all they were - silly little girls. “Whatever do you mean?” She asked archly, trying her best to put on Rosalie’s proud airs.

But Jessica looked sympathetic. Or pitying. “Alice … you don’t have to be brave.” She comforted her. “He’s so disfigured, it must have been a fright, when we first saw him.” She said sagely.

“I know he frightened me!” Lauren snorted with a sneer.

Alice felt a spike of panic; she felt an urgency to prove something, to defend the quiet, singular man. “Well, I’m sorry,” she began, feeling out of sorts, “but he’s good and ....” Alice glanced over at where Jasper stood … in a corner, quietly sipping a drink.

None of the others had spoken to him, and he stares out the window. He seemed so terribly … alone. Alice felt a painful clenching in her heart; she was right here! She shouldn’t leave him alone! But, as though sensing her gaze, Jasper’s eyes flick over to her, and he offers the barest hint of a smile.

It makes her feel almost worse, and she drops her gaze quickly. She remembers, before the hospital, how she was left by herself. How all that knew her turned away, when she needed a friend the most. She was about to stand and go to him, when a grip clamped down on her hand.

“I was very clear about my arrangements, Lauren!” It was Bella, looking slightly panicked. She wedged herself between Jessica and Alice. Jessica, extremely drunk and grinning vaguely, tottered off the couch and flopped into the armchair next to Michael that Bella had moved from.

Lauren snorts loudly at Bella’s words. “It was up to Alice’s digression!” Bella insists, and Alice freed her hand. She felt as though this was spiralling out of control.

“What was she supposed to write!?” Lauren snaps, her eyes bright. “ _Oh, sir, do you have an entire face?_ ” She simpered. Alice gasps, outraged, and Jessica bats at Laurens’s arm, trying to stop her own laughter.

“Oh, Miss Mary, she’s  _joking_ ,” Michael says assuredly, smiling widely.

“Yes, no one wants a fussy wife,” Eric says knowingly, grinning to Jasper, “eh, Whitlock?” He prompts with a laugh. “It’s not as though you haven’t seen a mirror!” Jessica laughs even harder at this.

Alice grits her teeth, real anger bubbling up. “Stop-”

“Alice, I  _can’t_  just give you a refund,” Bella tells her urgently.

“And why not!?” Lauren demands, the most vicious voice in the room. Alice felt torn, trapped the in the middle of the fighting women, feeling her heart beat in her throat with the intense tussle.

Michael was in some uproarious laughter with Eric, the host leaned over the man’s armchair. “Though, not to be harsh on each other,” Michael panted, “but why else would he take up a bridal service?” Michael asks Eric, chuckling wetly, “why, he even proposed to that Maria at the funhouse-”

“Oh Lord!” Eric yelled, all but slapping his knee as Jessica continued to giggle and giggle. “She took that money and ran back down to Texas with it!” He crowed to his wife, who fell over the armrest with laughter.

Alice looked up at the name of some woman. Who was she? And what was a funhouse – like a circus? She felt very bad, in her stomach, hearing this.

“And the vast deserts and cacti can keep her!” Michael declared, shaking a fist as they all laughed.

Eric gasped; “This one can’t get away, Whitlock brought the paperwork right with him to the blimp!” He was wheezing with laughter. Alice looked over at Jasper; who was entirely facing the window now.

Michael nodded, his laughter so strong it made no sound. “Remember,” he finally managed, “McCarty thought it was such a good idea, he did the same!”

Lauren was in a furious conversation with Bella. Hissing; “You denied the same for me-”

“This wasn’t just a travelling adventure!” Bella snapped back, “This is where you stay!”

Bella spares a glance at Jasper. Ducking her head and lowering her voice, she murmurs at Alice; “well, I know I was not fair to you,” her tone was low and apologetic.

“You gave me what I asked for.” Alice answered her, but her voice sounded far away in her own ears. It seemed there were at least two different conversations taking place in this room and Alice didn’t like either of them.

Bella’s face crumpled with pity. “I’m sure you wanted better than ….” Bella looks again at Jasper, and this time Alice was shocked silent. Bella, it seemed, was not unnerved or horrified but  _afraid_  of Jasper. “But I’m in a bit of a financial bind-”

Alice pushes herself up off the couch, and past Bella. She feels her heartbeat quicken, and she carefully keeps a vicious scowl off her face. “Let’s play cards. Hm?” She offers brightly.

That gets the attention of the room. Lauren and Jessica eagerly agreed, and set up a game over the small, round table. Bella seemed grateful for the distraction, but Alice’s smile dims. She can feel her anger in her own head, rushing in her ears. She spares a glance at Jasper, who was again looking out the window.

Alice focuses, and it comes flowing through her mind. The images float up, with nary a prompting. This wasn’t a complicated process; the outcome of a game of cards was no challenge.

She wins the first round soundly. Jessica hisses, because she played her best. Bella comes soundly last.

Alice pouts. “There’s no risk! You’re all playing awfully because this is so friendly! I want a proper win – I want wagers!” She asserts.

Michael laughs. “So certain you’ll win the next round?” He asks lightly.

But Alice nods once. “I’m so certain, I’ll wager this.” She said and plucks off her pearl brooch and drops it into the centre of the table.

Jessica coos over it. Bella gives it a high compliment, which prompts Michael to nod firmly. He puts in six dollars, Jessica, red-faced with drink, giggles as she takes an entire flower vase and lands it heavily on the table too.

“Now, gentle!” Yorkie protests.

“Now we’ll play fiercely!” Michael declares. “Miss Swan, if I win, I’ll gift the brooch to you.” He says graciously. No one misses the way Lauren makes a rude clicking sound with her tongue, and Bella’s face flushed bright red and looked not at all pleased.

Alice just claps her hands. “Let’s play!”

Jessica was giggling breathlessly as she plays each of her poor cards. Mike’s brow was furrowed, almost embarrassingly engrossed with the game. Eric seemed most bothered with making sure the little table didn’t fall over; as Lauren slaps each card down firmly and rolls her eyes every time Bella played a hand. Alice wins the second round; Eric laments the loss of one of the pair of vases.

“I’m so sorry my husband couldn’t get you that brooch, dear.” Lauren simpers loudly, and Bella mumbled something in the negative and keeps her head down.

“He might; let’s play one more! I’ll put everything back in.” Alice offers, feeling the hard, cold anger in her stomach. She plucks her earrings off and drops them in too.

Gasping, Jessica runs upstairs, and thumps around, before coming back, showing an indecent amount of her stockings.

“Here!” She said, giddy. It was a camera that she plunks into the middle of the table, which wobbles dangerously.

“Jess!” Eric argues. “That’s very new and expensive!”

“I want those earrings!” Jessica whines at him.

“I should put something nice in too,” Bella says hurriedly, patting down her pockets, and finally plucking the intricate hair comb from her head and placing it in too. “From my parent’s wedding.” She explains to Alice.

For just a moment, Alice’s heart throbs at Bella’s precious bet, but she glances over to Jasper, who leant against the wall and surveyed the scene. Bella had, for all intents and purposes, sent her off to the man Alice told her to. But the woman felt Alice hard done by, because she herself didn’t see Jasper as more than a beastly man. No one here did. It strengthens her, and she nods once, firmly. Alice wasn’t in control of Bella’s actions; if she wanted to put it in, fine.

“I also want them!” Lauren says of the earrings, and twists the wedding ring off her finger, throwing it in too. It had a pretty ruby in the centre.

“Now, hang on!” Michael says, sounding alarmed.

But after a few disagreements, the table settled into a passionate, tense silence - such high stakes had a very sobering affect on the party.

 

Emmett watched Alice all but skip down the path, and hoped that for her sake, the folks won’t poke too much fun at Jasper’s face. It happened the first and last time Jasper played a card game with them; which was a shame because the man was actually very good at cards. Folks seemed determined to quell their own discomfort with his face by making light of it. But Jasper wasn’t intimate enough with anyone in the town to take such overt mocking in a friendly way, because no one meant it to be amiable; only hoped that through derision they'd become accustomed to the scars.

Rosalie sighed, and when Emmett turned to look at her, she quickly yawned very loudly. But it was no act; she felt a deep exhaustion pressing into her marrow, and she wanted to go to sleep very deeply.

“Well, I think that’s all the excitement I can take of a night ….” She said meaningfully. Meaning to have him excuse himself and go home.

Emmett, though, only brightens at the suggestion. “Of course!” He chirps. “Shall we retire? I haven’t seen what Whitlock’s done to the guest room yet ….” He tucked his hands behind his back and swayed, towards the guest room, looking eager and boyish.

Rosalie thought the prank would have had dashed any thoughts of  _togetherness_  her act would incite. She thought she might throw up. But if she threw up, she would then think that it might be morning sickness in the night, and that would  _really_  make her throw up.

Rosalie felt a rushing begin in her ears. It was so loud she might start to get a headache. “I’m not sure either of them would appreciate their things being rifled through.” She said faintly

She put a hand on her roiling stomach and sat herself on the couch. She thought sitting might calm her stomach, and maybe deter him from going into the bedroom. He looked at her so brightly; like he wanted her, like he thought it perfectly acceptable to want her. Rosalie couldn’t stand it.

Emmett, though, only beams and sits himself right down beside her. “Oh of course; none rifling!” He agrees easily. Rosalie is glad he doesn’t try and sway her, and she watches the flames flicker over the walls.

Her heart sinks when, clumsily, the man pets her knee. “You’re so very pretty, Rosalie.” Emmett says quietly. She looks at the big, thick hand on her knee, that retracts itself smartly. “I’m … I’m quite glad you’ve come.” He says haltingly.

Rosalie glances over at him. He was turned to her, hands limp on his thighs, seemingly rough, but looking at her gently. “As am I.” She says, and while its wooden, she wants to mean it.

Emmett smiles, and his face comes close to hers, and Rosalie panics. She throws herself away. He gets up, and Rosalie doesn’t see the concern written on his face. No – she only sees Royce’s shoulder, Royce mopping his brow after using her. Not Again.  _Not again._

She grabs up the fire poker and brandishes it like a sword. “Don’t you even think it!” She shouts at Emmett’s bewildered face. “I’ll make you as gruesome as the master of this house if you take another step near me.”

“What?” Emmett said dumbly, taking a step forward, only for her to slash at the air in front of him. “But-but I thought us even now!” He argues, though taking a step back. “I went and made a fool of you at the party, and then you took my clothes, but I left you in the woods. But then I got our friends and found you!” Counting off each prank they pulled tonight on his rough fingers. But Rosalie’s eyes were still narrowed. “There’s no-there was never any malice.” He tries.

Rosalie shakes her head. “You’ll never consummate this marriage with a willing woman.” She promises icily. “So you just stay away from me.”

“Why-why would – you mean that?” Emmett asked her, hurt and confused. “You want me to stay away? I married you, you-you who came here from New York and now! Now even to have ….” His confusion shifts into anger, and the anger makes him draw back further away from her, tuck his shoulders into himself. “I may have tricked you, but it seems you’ve fooled me too. I at least thought you wanted a husband. I thought I could be ….” He trailed off, helpless in the face of her unmoving stance. He scowls and throws up his hands. “I’m going! Me and my brutish ways!” He hisses, indeed turning on his heel and going out the door.

Rosalie doesn’t move until she can’t hear his stomping. She releases her shaky breath and flings the poker in the general direction of its stand, and her next breath is quicker and shakier.

Tears gather in her eyes, and she can barely remember to lock the door as though flings herself into her room to cry in hidden safety.

 

Alice was victorious; and she was smug. She had won. Her moves were made obviously and in clear sight; they couldn’t accuse her of cheating or the like.

She took every bit of her prizes, and thanks them graciously for the entertainment.

“But, I believe it’s late, and we should get on our way.” Alice explains, doing a bad job of feigning regret. Sullen at the loss of his camera, Eric shows them quickly to the door. Everyone mutters goodbyes, and Jessica’s eyes look wet with unshed tears.

Jasper carries most of Alice’s winnings, and Alice tucks the hair comb in his hair. They walked in silence; Alice’s chest still puffed with pride. She won all their good things; she won her husband’s pride back.

But the silence became tense the further from town they walked. Alice was all of a sudden concerned; did Jasper think her cruel to keep their treasures? “Well!” Alice declared. “Eventful night!”

Jasper looked, perhaps fretful. It was difficult to glean his expression from scar tissue and half a face. But he looked defeated. “It was …” he cleared his throat, “I should tell you; Maria was an act of … desperation. It was a terrible misjudgement.” He explained. It felt like ice down Alice’s spine, but she nodded for him to continue. His tone was contrite. “I did not regularly go to the brothel ….” He says, quickly. “I was just, it was too quiet.”

Alice mulled over what to say. She certainly wasn't going to admit that until he spoke the word, Alice hadn't known it was a brothel at all - far too naive. On one hand; she loathed the idea that Jasper was once with someone else. But it wasn’t as though it changed her opinion of him. Images of a younger man, still scarred, going to pay for company because he had no one else. That, Alice didn’t like at all.

But it was the past; Alice was a strict advocate for leaving the past behind. Both his and hers. “I’m sorry it hurt you.” She told him simply. “I’m not sorry I’m here now, to make it better.” She added softly, leaning slightly a bit more against him, and smiling up at him.

Jasper looks down at her smile, with no comment, and they reach the house in silence. Alice worried she had done a bad job at comforting him. It’s quiet, though the lights were still on. Rosalie’s door was closed firmly, and Alice figured she’d left them on for the couple to arrive home.

Jasper arranges her prizes on the table in front of the green couch. Alice plucks the hair comb from his blond locks.

“We’ll keep this for you; my hair is too short.” Alice told him with a smile. But Jasper looked worn and sad in the comfort of their own home. “I’m sorry about tonight.” She told him softly. To hear those vicious, pernicious comments …. All while they laughed at him. She should have said something.

Jasper looks, if not calm than resigned. “It’s not your fault.” He replied in the same volume. "They're not usually so ... excessively emotional. I'm sorry you had to see it." His tone sounds contrite, and it makes Alice frown.

She shrugged. Fault didn’t matter when he had just stood there, being mocked. “But I’m also sorry, all the same.”

“Well, I didn’t go to enjoy myself.” Jasper said as though he was assuring her. “Only for your sake. You seemed eager to go.” He added, smiling just a little.

The words make Alice feel stricken and terribly guilty. She didn’t even foresee that disaster, she had been so impatient to go. She felt awful; he hadn’t wanted to go initially, no doubt  _because_  he knew how the townspeople spoke about him.

Alice’s fingers itched to make it right again. She takes one of his hands in both of hers and steps closer to him. “Well, you can enjoy yourself here … with me.” She said intently. Jasper’s eyes flicked over her face, and she made sure to face him fully, to show she was more than ready. “Let’s go to bed, and I’ll … be eager to go.” She tugged his way, just once.

But he wretched his hand from her grip and took two lopsided steps away, leaning haphazardly on his bad leg. His eyes were angry, his mouth pulled into a thin line. “I would enjoy going to bed without your constant hovering!” He snapped.

Alice felt the words cut her. She had only wanted to be near him all the time; not some nuisance or a burden. His words made her feel ashamed and jilted. “Well, by all means! In fact, sleep in our bed,  _for once_ ,” She spat, humiliated and upset, she marches straight to Rosalie’s room and slams the door behind her. Rosalie was sitting in bed, eyes puffy. The beautiful young lady looked tired and worn.

Alice sniffles, and Rosalie looks over to her, and nods her head to her spare nightgown. Alice fumbled at her clothes, sure she might rip something or shatter her grapes, but does neither. The nightgown was a circus tent on Alice, who dons it quickly, and climbs into bed next to her friend when Rosalie rolls down the covers.

“Men!” Alice hisses, and tucks the blankets under her wobbling chin. She blinks, and a few big fat tears roll down her face.

Rosalie, eyes dry but red-rimmed, wipes them away with with thumb. “I concur,” she muttered, sounding stuffy.

Rosalie turned out the lamp and lay down on the bed. Alice cries a little more, and Rosalie watches her. In the end, they sleep fitfully and much too little.

 

As the party wraps up, in a sombre mood as Alice is all benign smiles when she took her winnings. While their departure had left the party miserable, it had not had a very happy beginning. With tensions so high, coupled with Lauren's ferocity, Bella began to realise that the couple were not particularly content. It made her feel ... guilty, and flustered for the whole party.

Bella is at the steps of Yorkie house, trying to politely decline Mr Newton’s eager offer to take her back to the hotel. Bella had made the grave mistake of mentioning to Jessica of her visit to the doctor about her fall. Jessica had been too pleased to declare her the Miraculous Encumbered; Michael Newton had been quick to voice his concern.

“Really, it’s not far at all.” Bella assured him, very mindful of the slight impatience of their hosts as Michael kept them in the doorway.

Lauren’s tone showed none of her spouse’s concern. “But let him be useful.” She entreated with a bland voice and expression.

“I’d rather!” Michael agreed, hand outstretched to take hers. Again, Bella begins to refuse him, until Yorkie calls a hello and raises a hand. The other four looked and saw Edward Cullen, inclining his head and walking up a step. Polite hellos circulate.

He glances at Bella with a smile. “Along my way?” He asks, and Bella nods once. The hotel was on the main, and only, street in and out of town. Edward mentions her forward and Bella steps up to him, grateful and a little eager. “It’s no bother.” He says as Michael protests.

“The  _opposite direction_ ,” Jessica points out, physically pointing out the general store and the apartment above it, just across the street.

Bella is much gladder to take Edward’s elbow. “Thank you.” She tells him softly.

“You weren’t even here for the party!” Argues Michael, his tone reproachful.

Edward laughs easily, but there’s a distance in his still-polite smile. “I’ll remind you, Michael, you made it very clear you thought me a cheater last time.”

“Because you cheated!” Yorkie declares, but his tone is genial.

“Oh, let us leave.” Lauren bids goodnight to everyone in a huffy manner, and Michael follows after her, glancing back once as though to be sure they were still there.

Jessica bids them goodbye almost as quickly, and they begin the walk mostly in silence. It gives Bella some time to mourn the loss of her comb. It was a pricy wager, and she was never very confident in her chance at winning. She felt it as a strong blow; one item from her life, before she had to worry about money and meeting ends and matchmaking. A pretty trinket her mother kept in a box, and Bella had always enjoyed taking it out and watching the polished metal glint in the light.

She certainly doesn’t allow herself to dwell, though. She knew her actions when she placed it on the table, and she was certain in this rough place, that would not be the only thing she might have to let go. Besides, it had all been an incredibly uncomfortable evening; she was genuinely taken aback by how coarse and callous the other two gentlemen had become towards Whitlock. Bella couldn’t imagine speaking such a way to such a man. It was equally his face and demeanour that terrified her; there was something weak in her that was glad they’d gone, even if it cost her comb.

Bella glanced back the way Edward had wandered up from. It was the clear other end of town; to get there, he would have had to walk the entirety of town. Very late at night for a singular pleasure.

“Do you like very long walks?” Bella asks him.

Edward hummed vaguely but failed to be impressed by her wonderful conversation skills. “You said something of a library before?” He asks back.

Bella felt a spark of excitement in her belly at his words. “Oh yes, I hope to make it in the woods.” Bella said, and glanced again at the path of his arrival. “You might be able to help me lay out the groundwork if you know the area.” She suggested. It could lead to scouting out locations, perhaps a picnic …

“I fail to see how it would suit.” Edward said bluntly, and Bella was a little startled by such an outright tone and stumbled a little in the dark. Edward used his other hand to cover Bella’s own on his elbow, until she righted herself again, blushing. “Shouldn’t a library be within the town?” He continued after Bella regained her step.

Bella was a little taken aback by the query. It … made sense. “I … I suppose.” She allowed, slightly smarting at an aspect of her plan she hadn’t considered before. “But it’s not as though there is no room!” She added brightly, looking at the dark expanse of green.

Edward hummed a little in his throat, but he began to frown. “I would disagree again.” He said, his tone harsher. “We are not the only people here; this town is not alone.” He said heavily. Bella was taken aback, but only for a moment.

She realised who he spoke of. The small settlement Bella had been informed of, by an overtly-excited Jessica.

_“Real injuns!” Jessica said, her knee bouncing as she balanced her teacup. “They live just out of town, it’s like out of a novel!”_

At the time, it hadn’t really registered with Bella, mostly her thoughts were tuned to finding out more of the man that walked beside her at the time. Now, though, she flushed slightly.

“… Of course.” She agreed, inclining her head and glancing over the dark outline of ancient trees, hiding from sight an entirely other people. They had to be there for a reason, a purpose. The thought flashed across Bella’s mind, and she thought it so clever she didn’t stop to examine it as she said eagerly; “Perhaps I could teach English, and help bridge-”

Edward’s gaze held none of the brightness in his tone. “Were you a teacher?” He asked her with a smile, but Bella could see plainly the harshness in his features. “Like Esme?” He prompted.

Bella felt off-step and caught out like a naughty child. “N-no.” She managed, quelled. She felt a spark of indignation at her cause. “But it’s not as though a library is frivolous.”

“Now, there I whole-heartedly agree.” Edward’s expression softened, and while his smile only alighted upon Bella for a moment, her stomach trembled for much longer than that. “But not out of town. There’s a bakery, or it was, until Newton started baking too.” Edward continued conversationally. “It would have room enough, surely, for shelves of books instead of loaves.”

Bella was surprised at the suggestion, and nodded once, slowly. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Bella was excited about the input; about the small inkling of what it would be like not to do this alone. It made her feel as though she could be less lonely.

Edward stops walking and mentions to the front door of the hotel. Smiling, Bella inclines her head and starts up the stairs.

She glances back at Edward, who stood watching her. “Goodnight, Ms Swan!”

Bella echoes his words brightly, and she’s very aware that he waits patiently as she takes the stairs and reaches the front door.  He nods once, closes the front door for her and she feels something like hope inside her. Maybe the green wild wasn’t as wild as she thought, and she might not find a place in it. But she’d been left with an even clearer plan than before, sprung from a very engaging conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So folks aren't usually so cruel to him, everyone is very tense. I'll get to the bottom of Bella and Lauren's animosity one day .... While the fire poker was dramatic, it was very Rosalie. Updates may be hindered; my internet is bad.


	16. Wake Up

Alice wakes up to her face swollen and unable to open her eyes fully. She looked miserably over to Rosalie; her face was clear and smooth.

“How …?” She asked, her tone sulky.

Rosalie shrugged. “I’ve been up for an hour, with ice.” She replied. Alice was surprised at her dedication. Alice was also surprised at the availability of ice here – flown from the Canadas, it was much cheaper than the delta.

Resigned to her bloated face, Alice slid out of bed, and huffed a little. “My slippers are in my room.” She muttered. Rosalie looked less than sympathetic; she was just finishing her hair and was completely dressed.

“Have you eaten?” Alice asked her, confused as to why Rosie would bother dressing so early in the morning. The sun was just peeking up now; it was when Jasper usually rose; the curtains were thin in this room and the rosy-fingered dawn was starting to creep onto the bed.

Rosalie shakes her head. “Your husband is in the kitchen, and I wasn’t going to go without you.” Rosalie told her. Alice was embarrassed that their guest had heard their parting words last night. Though, she knew something must have happened with Emmett; Alice just didn’t know what.

Alice was curious; Jasper left the cooking to her and he didn’t have to start the chores yet, either. She wasn’t so angry she planned on starving him. Worried, Alice walks out to the kitchen straight, without slippers, and Rosalie trots after her.

Jasper was bent over the stove, working silently. Alice came up to his shoulder to look. It was a saucepan of eggs.

“What’s this for?” She asked, not bothering with being very quiet. Jasper was an extremely observant person, she’d come to realise. She hadn’t yet managed to sneak up on him. Rosalie takes a seat at the table, plucking up a piece of toast and ripping off pieces to chew. She looked idle and bored; and Alice guessed she felt too awkward to leave or pay them any attention.

“I wanted to let you sleep in.” He replied softly. Alice was a little touched, and glanced up at his face, but he wouldn’t look at her. He moves past her to dish them out; splitting them into three even portions.

“I’m not eating all of that.” Rosalie told him before he pushed the plate over to her. He split hers and she took the plate; standing up and going back into her room without a word.

Alice was glad for her departure and quickly sat when Jasper did. She wanted to thank him or ask about last night. She wanted to know if he actually slept in their bed; if, tonight, she’d get to smell his scent on the sheets. Or if she should bunk with Rosalie every night so he wouldn’t have to sleep in the cot, since he was so intent not to sleep with her.

Jasper sighed, and gently petted her hand. He was looking at her now, and extremely uncomfortable. “I _am_ sorry.” He says softly, and under his gaze Alice feels her own shy smile. “It embarrassed me; having you witness their drunken unravelling. The next time we go out; it won’t be so terrible.” He assures her gently.

Jasper plucks up the hand he petted, and presses a kiss to her knuckles, before releasing her and beginning to eat hurriedly. Alice could see how red his ears were, and she bit down on her smile. Appeased, she eats her rather rubbery eggs with a big grin.

 

Jasper was never one for conversation, and certainly not with so much on his mind. Last night was his own failure. The Yorkie party went as worse as he had expected. Since he was a boy he’d had a way of gauging a crowd; the youth who thrived as a leader.

Now, usually he found the easiest way to be left well enough alone. Alone is what Jasper wanted; he’d needed distance from Alice after the attempt at fitting his jacket. Kissing her had been suspiciously easy; and Jasper wasn’t about to let himself fall into bad habits.

But he’d used the night for another purpose; to see just how far Little Mary would stand with him. He’d not hold it against her, to be swayed with the tide. To admit, to her fellow journey-makers, any discomfort at her spouse. But it was still for naught. She had stayed firm, she had become very distressed. To be stood up _for_ exceeded Jasper’s expectations.

That night, more than most, he’d been lashed out upon to relieve the tension in the room. It hadn’t particularly bothered him, until those fool boys had mentioned Maria. It was about the one thing he’d wished to bury and forget. His own humiliation of his past self, and the constant derision of his face that evening, had him in turn lashing out at Alice.

It hadn’t been fair, or kind and in his breast it left an uneven heaviness that didn’t relinquish him until Alice had smiled at him that morning. He felt guilty and ashamed of himself, for being so twisted up as to keep from his own wife the benefit of the doubt.

There was not much else to infer; Alice did not mind his face. An empty comfort now; as another issue had become apparent. Back in his own bed for the night; Jasper had sorted through his wife’s letters once more, to find one gaping hole in all her fawning missives. She mentioned her work and her excitement and nothing of her own past. This had roused Jasper’s suspicions before; but if his disfigurement meant nothing to her – why? Did she have a relative with a similar countenance? Has she known other soldiers? Alice learnt of Maria, so Jasper wanted a lesson from her.

 

Emmett is also quiet when he helps Jasper around the property; but his silence is unfamiliar. Meek, for a large man, Jasper decided, something he could never be accused of before. Several times in the early morning, Emmett could be seen running to Church in a hurry, straight from the jail after a night of drinking with his brothers. He was a not a thoughtless man, but he was not particularly prone to pontificating. Jasper didn’t want to over-step. He did like the McCarty clan, though; the matriarch never let any of hers make fun of his face. But Emmett didn’t even go inside to greet Rosalie for a few moments, as he usually does.

Finally, Emmett speaks, but the question makes Jasper so acutely miss the silence. “You’re from a good family, Jasper?” The man asked.

His skin crawled, he felt that old notion of pain and longing. “They were good to me, yes.” He managed with difficulty, as it was a door closed to him forever. Luckily, Emmett seemed to sense enough to feign ignorance to his expression.

“You were brought up well, you like learning?” Emmett pressed, looking like a particular miserably handsome cow.

“So do you, always asking questions.” Jasper replied, trying to keep his tone light.

“Do girls … do _women_ , do those well brought-up, like gentlemen more.” Emmett did not sound as though he was asking a question, he looked as though he was admitting defeat. “Gentler-men.” He murmured, almost wistful.

Jasper shrugged with one shoulder, before he blinks once. “… You mean me?” He asks faintly.

Emmett nods, as though it should be obvious. “My wife speaks with my friend freer than she does me.” He said with a frown.

“You think me gentle?” Jasper asked him, floored. No one, even when he had his whole face, had ever thought him gentle before. And it had been such a long time since someone had called him a friend.

“You’re quieter than me,” Emmett continues unhappily, blind to Jasper’s own nonplus, “and you mind yourself … your wife doesn’t … Alice is happy.” Emmett finished glumly.

Jasper hummed at the last comment, as he himself wasn’t too sure of that. “I suppose she looks it.” Jasper grants him, before shaking his head. “Emmett, there’s nothing much wrong with you. Rosie seems … skittish.” Jasper allows. But he knew that type of huffy Southern Deb. It just looked a little different on a Yankee. “Like a stray cat that got beaten so much it knows nothing but how to bite.” He suggests.

Emmett scoffs immediately. “No-one’s hurt her!” He exclaimed. Jasper almost assured him of his faith in the McCarty men, but he realised his _friend_ was amused. “She’s so lovely, no-one could hurt her.”

Emmett shook his head; resolute faith that Rosalie was everything too precious to ever come to harm. “Feel like a right sinner if you tried, and naught one like feelin’ like a sinner.” He continued with a firm nod.

“Some do.” Jasper told him bluntly, which seems to shock him. Jasper looks away, not wanting to point out that simply because Emmett was stead-fastly too besotted to hurt her meant she’d never been hurt before.

“You’re a good man, patient, you listen to your mother. There’s not much wrong with you.” Jasper assured him. But the man didn’t look assured, he just looked resigned. A little part of Jasper felt for the man; they’d expected poor, plain women. Yet Emmett was enraptured with a run-away beauty, licking unknown wounds, and Jasper had a mystery of small statue and great patience.

But Emmett face was dejected. “I just wanted a wife ….” He grumbles, and Jasper could have laughed in his face if he had less discipline.

“Well; now you have one – and all the troubles that come with them.” Jasper told him and was pleased to be rewarded with a deep belly laugh. Emmett went on with a bit more cheer afterwards, and Jasper didn’t voice his own concerns. They were empty words, both of them knew. The troubles of a wife they were both so desperate for they paid to have them.

Jasper kept his darker thoughts to himself. He counted his coins every night; checked all valuables he had were still where they should be. But this woman touched nothing; took nothing. By all accounts she was pleased to be in his home. Jasper was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. All precautions he had planned for his wife regardless of how she turned out, and until Jasper found out who she was, they were precautions he would continue taking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the creeping feeling no one but myself will enjoy how long it takes to get to that HEA ... which is the entire point of posting my twilight fanfiction.


	17. Slowly Growing

Rosalie watches as Emmett comes back to the house with Jasper in tow and averts her eyes when he looks up.

“Rosalie,” Emmett calls her name stiffly, “I was hoping you’d stand to come back home for a night.” He said. His wording immediately embarrasses her, and she looks wide-eyed at where Alice and Jasper quietly spoke on the other side of the room. “The flooring’s nearly done, and the littles want to see you.”

Rosalie didn’t like the idea of having to walk with him, but there’s no excuse she can make so she agrees.

She packs only a few things, undergarments for tomorrow fit in her smallest bag and her book, and they leave before dinner. The walk is stilted and quiet. Rosalie doesn’t take Emmett’s arm; he doesn’t offer it. Not a word passes between them.

 Rosalie finds herself feeling much more comfortable when they finally reach the McCarty home. Maybe the Whitlock house had a finished floor, but it also had the Whitlock’s in it and Rosalie found them unsettling on her own. Jasper and Alice were different types of silent, and while they were both amiable, there was a part of Rosalie that still found them strange.

She’s greeted warmly; she admired the floorboards. The floor was rough; it had to be sanded and stained; but it was alright to walk on, still with shoes.

Ma McCarty gave her a warm hug, and Sonny even allowed Rosalie to kiss his little head before waddling off. There’s only Ma and Pa McCarty, bright Rebecca, little Mary, and baby Sonny. The supper was fabulous; Rosalie found herself eating a full plate with ease.

Afterwards, the food makes her sleepy, though Ma does give her chores. She was doing her best darning socks at the fireplace, holding the needle only a few inches from her face to get the neatest stitches she could. Rebecca was sitting next to her, doing much quicker and much better than she was.

“I was thinking of our new hats!” The young girl chirped.

Rosalie was scowling at her needle and trying her hardest to concentrate. “What?”

“For Easter; we all get new bonnets. Lenore has them made.”

“I see ….” Rosalie grunted as she nearly stabbed her finger, but only caught the edge of her skin. It was difficult work.

“In the city, do girls get new hats very often?” Rebecca asks eagerly. “I always thought it sounded very exciting. Not like them bears come foraging after winter, but there’s pictures and dresses!”

Rosalie only half-listened to the youthful embellishments as she tried to tie off the thread neatly. “You’re right.”

“… Do you like it here? Are you bored?”

Rosalie finally put the sock down, glancing at the girl’s anxious face. “You’re all very good company.” She finally told her. Rebecca nodded once, but both could tell Rosalie had made no effort to be assuring – the McCarty clan _were_ good company, the best people Rosalie’s insipid start at life had seen; but she was still sitting on raw wood darning socks. That’s nowhere near what she had ever thought married life would lead her.

She tensed her shoulders as Emmett spoke behind her; “Oh excellent, aren’t we all so glad?” His obviously derisive tone left an awkward beat of silence in the room.

“Emmett, you come out, help your da.” Silas growled sternly, and, scowling, Emmett tromped outside with him. Little Mary huffs and puffs after them both, and the door is left wide open.

“Ignore him!” Rebecca rallied her quickly. “He’s being so sour!”

Rosalie felt a very bad type of chill creep up her arms, despite the fire. “Perhaps he has reason to be ….” She muttered.

“I raise rough boys.” Mariam’s voice was as ever the exact tone and volume to fill the entire hut. Rosalie turned around to see the woman crook a finger at her, as she sat with Sonny, prodding at his gums to check his growing teeth. Rosalie stood and went to her, uncertain as to whether or not she’d be chastised. “I’ve lost a few, but if you raise them rough out here, they last longer.” Mariam continued, putting Sonny down and letting him yet again do his best to run.

Rosalie shook her head. “He’s not rough with me.” She assured the woman quickly, though when she meets Mariam’s firm gaze, she realised his own mother already knew that. “I’m … I suppose I’ve put him in a bad position ….” Rosalie said, wrapping her arms around her waist and trying to find a way to tell a woman she’d known barely a month that she was terrified of being pregnant. “I’m scared of ….” Rosalie stopped, as Mariam McCarty’s gaze dropped from her face, to Rosalie’s grasping hands and back up.

Mariam hummed, long and low, and Rosalie knew she’d been found out. She felt a jolt of fear and uncertainty. Would Mariam consider her a fraud for not being a virgin? Would she claim Rosalie had tricked her son? Slap her face and turn her out?

The woman glances to the fire. “Finish those socks, Rebecca.” Reflexively, Rosalie looked back at Rebecca, who was now busying herself with the needle and thread.

“There’s a tonic, an old wives’ tale.” Mariam began, who voice calm and soft. “What I am, and what you’ll be one day. Mugwort to relax the uterus. I’ll have Victoria bring it to you.”

Mariam’s voice isn’t assuring, but it isn’t brisk; it doesn’t judge, and Rosalie finds her eyes burning and tears begin to well up. She broke down and cried, in front of this woman who was older and so much wiser than her. So sure, that Rosalie would be an old wife someday too, though it boggles her to think about. She sits heavily at the woman’s feet and covers her face with her hands and lets out coarse coughing sobs.

There’s no gentle, quiet moment to let her calm herself; immediately, little Mary is stomping back inside, curious eyes searching for the noise, and Rebecca is quick to come over and offer her hanky.

Silas pokes his head inside. “Now what’s this?” But he’s amiable at being waved off. Emmett hovers in the doorway, and Rosalie can’t tell through Rebecca’s hanky and her still-blurry vision if he’s worried or cross before Ma shoos him away too.

She still doesn’t truly get a moment to collect herself. Her mother would always tell her to wash her face and come downstairs when she was ready to be reasonable. Mariam says nothing as Rosalie ends up sniffling next to a carefully quiet Rebecca, with little Mary waving a crushed little weed in her face, garbling some sort of melody.

Rosalie sleeps next to little Mary that night, more than content with the baby’s habit of pressing her feet under Rosalie’s arm and having all the blanket. Rosalie is not entirely sure if she imagines Emmett’s large hand stroking over her cheek, or the press of his thumb against her mouth.

 

Rosalie wakes with a puffy face, again, and this time she excuses herself before breakfast to go back to the Whitlock’s.

“Too early, dear,” Silas told her, his own voice fuzzy with sleep.

“I would rather,” Rosalie pressed, looking fondly over at dozy little Mary, who crunches toast with no determination.

“Well,” Ma McCarty prods at Emmett, he barely looked up from his porridge. “You heard her, take up Emmett.” She ordered, throwing his cap in front of him. She meets Rosalie eyes calmly. “He’ll come back and bring Victoria today.” Rosalie freezes, but no one reacts, as no one else knows and she manages a nod.

Ma continues as though Rosalie hadn’t paused at all. “Bring a loaf with you; you said the little thing is a middling cook.” She does not look as if they at all shared such a big secret, briskly turning back to her own matters of feeding Sonny.

Emmett grunts as he stands up from the table, but Rosalie shakes her head. “But please, I’d go alone.” She assured him.

Emmett pulls his cap between his fists and looks something like sulky. “I don’t mind.” He told her quietly.

Rosalie knows they’re still tense from her stint with the poker, and she quickly trots over and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I’d rather you finished your meal.” She said, trying to be gentle. It’s hardly something she’s familiar with and she worries it seems false.

She takes a bit of bacon and walks alone. She needed time to herself to think, and she needed to be as private as she could be to receive her cure from Victoria.

Alice seems grateful for the bread, if startled to see her so early. Rosalie assured her everything was fine; she just didn’t want to get in the way of the construction.

“You look tired.”  The little woman frowns, her gaze shrewd and curious.

“I feel tired.” Was all Rosalie replied. She and Alice sat on the old green couch in front of the radio. It wasn’t playing anything now, Alice had been occupied with knitting.

“My sister-in-law may stop by to see me here.” She added, careful to keep her voice casual. She felt jittery and paranoid. She was nervous, that Alice would ask her for details, why she was trying with her in-laws now. Or even invite Victoria in herself and play host. Something Rosalie noticed that for all Alice despaired over her husband’s singular existence; she herself emulated it.

Rosalie’s tenseness seemed to read as something to Alice. Rosalie felt herself being regarded with an air almost melancholic. “Do you like it here, Rosie?” Alice asked quietly. “Will you stay?”

Rosalie didn’t want to answer very quickly, and she couldn’t besides. It was a strange question. She had no means but the money she tucked into her pair of best heels, still in her luggage under her bed. But to travel so long, unescorted? To return to her family in disgrace, or more disgrace than when she left?

It was intolerable to her; at the beginning, it was her Hale pride that kept her here. Now, Rosalie still has Rebecca’s kerchief in her pocket, and remembered Emmett’s hand on her head.

Most importantly – Rosalie was many things; spoilt, hot-tempered, quick to distain. But she was not fickle, or flighty or easily pliable. She said she would come – and here she would stay.

So, she shrugs and chooses honesty. “I have nowhere else to go … what of you?” Rosie asks her. “Who misses you, Mary Alice?”

At that, Alice laughs easily. “No-one I could imagine.” She says, and Rosalie felt a shift in her spleen. For all their comradery, Rosalie was struck with the notion that Alice had just lied. “This is the only place I want to be.” Alice continued warmly.

The words took to Rosalie more than the idea of a fib did. “Why do you love him? You don’t know him.” But it was undeniable; Alice did indeed love her husband.

“I do!” Alice insisted and in that instance a flush of colour and an intense air took over the little face. The look didn’t sit well, but it passed quickly. Replacing it, Alice looked a little downcast and uncertain. “At least I almost do … I know what he’ll be.” The conviction grew in her still-quiet voice. “I know what we will be. Just watch.”

Rosalie wanted to laugh to her confidence but couldn’t quite manage the sound. “Vainglorious little thing.” She said finally.

Alice grinned, buoyed by a type of quiet confidence that Rosalie did not understand. “Maybe so.”

 

Rosalie had been intending to read on the couch, but ended up dozing, while Alice seemed quietly content with continuing her own work. Rosalie was roused by a knocking and Alice going to the door.

“Oh, good day, I’m here for my sister.” Victoria’s voice was this strangely distant kind of warmth. Alice chirps a dissent and Rosalie watches Emmett’s curly head bobs past the living room window as he goes around the back to Jasper’s aide.

The front door closes. Victoria was very adept at friendliness with no feeling. It wasn’t necessarily malicious, as Rosalie would have assumed in New York; it bordered closer to chary. “I hope I don’t intrude, Mrs Whitlock.” The woman added as she walked inside, more of a waddle with her huge stomach. Victoria glancing briefly at Rosalie who quickly sat up.

Alice skips along behind, and positively glowed at the use of the title. “Yes, that’s me!” She chirped proudly, and now seemed more energized than ever. “Oh, how are you? What can I do for you?” She chattered, looking very gracious.

Victoria inclines her head and sets her purse straight on Rosalie’s lap. “I’m here to speak with my sister.” She said lightly, and Alice watches the tight grip Rosalie takes the bag with quietly. “If you wouldn’t mind.” Victoria said, her tone apologetic.

Alice glances at Rosalie’s wide-eyes and tight lips, and steps back. “It’s no bother,” Alice says mildly, gazing away from them, “you help yourselves.” She reminds Rosalie where her tea and cups were, and skips with a little hum down to the small room she kept her crafts in.

 Alice shuts herself amiably in her workroom, to sketch a design for a dress Jasper might give her as a present. For all her nosy attitudes, there was something in Rosalie’s mood today that Alice didn’t want to be a part of. Something fragile and sad, when Alice was very much through with being fragile and sad herself. Those were things better kept back at a scary little hospital.

Victoria and Rosalie sit in silence for a moment. Rosalie feels as though the purse weights a hundred tonnes and keeps her rooted to the spot. Despite the heaviness in the air, there was the same, familiar undercurrent of nervousness between two women who were still only acquaintances.

“I wanted to thank you … for helping me.” Rosalie said quietly, eyes on the bag in her lap. Innocuous and out-dated, nothing Rosalie would consider fashionable. Even in her own mind, she’s disappointed with herself; this woman was indeed helping her, and all she could do that disparage her purse.

Victoria’s gaze remains fixed on the radio. “I needed help then, too.” Victoria tells her quietly. The cryptic response makes Rosalie frown, but she wasn’t going to push this woman into telling her after her assistance. But Victoria doesn’t keep the mystery very long. Her hand rests on her extended stomach. “It’s not Len’s.” She admits. Rosalie let out a little gasp before she could think and felt her heart thud loudly in her chest.

Victoria went on to explain; travelling often to the Angeles Port to trade and bargain. “I met a man, he was always willing to barter with a woman, and he didn’t cheat me … I thought we had an understanding.” Victoria muttered, and her mouth twisted, for a moment, before her expression smoothed out again. “I thought he would ask for my hand when I told him I was pregnant … but he left by the next week. I never heard from him again.” Her voice was cold and distant. No doubt an attempt to keep her feelings much the same.

Rosalie hummed, though it come out a hiccup. “You didn’t wait?” She asked, knowing she must have sounded breathless and stupid. It wasn’t as though she could judge at all – no one in Rochester thought she had waited either.

Victoria, for her part, seemed mostly irritated. “I wasn’t naïve, I thought I wasn’t.” She said, the whisper of her voice implying she was irritated with herself. “My mother was five months along with me when my parents married.” She continued but bit her lip and shook her head. “He wrote me so many wonderful things, and always brought me presents … I suppose he liked that I only came to the port twice a month.” Her mouth twisted, and Rosalie felt a little … small. She hadn’t felt small in a very long time; not since she her first real corset.

“The baby?” Rosalie asked, her voice maintaining its whisper. Victoria looked down at herself, her full, round belly. In the stretching silence, Rosalie wondered if in over-stepping, she had lost the chance to use the mugwort.

Victoria’s gaze is clear and distant when they meet eyes. “Shan’t bore you with the details.” She replied. Rosalie nodded quickly, her insides twisting, and her mind overrun with questions.

But she understood. She had only just arrived, and while the woman was amiable, and assisting her, Rosalie had done nothing to gain a friend. “… I thought I had a fancy city man, but I was wrong.” Victoria tells her, and Rosalie watches the way her fingers, slightly swollen, fiddle with a loose string on her blouse.

“Ma McCarty raises good boys – men, I should say.” Victoria said carefully, and her eyes did not entirely entreat Rosalie, but she seemed in all things sincere. “They’re all so good to me. I know it might be hard, and it probably still hurts. But you can trust them, you really can.”

Rosalie said nothing in reply, her gaze dropping to the pouch she held. She could see her fingers trembling, but it surprised her, and her hands felt incredibly warm.

Victoria opens the bag still in Rosalie’s lap, and takes a rough cloth pouch. That she leaves in Rosalie’s lap and takes back her bag. “When your uterus relaxes, it will feel like a terribly heavy menses. It might take a few hours too.” Victoria tells her, tone brisk as Rosalie opens the bag to peer at the brown and grey dried foliage. “Best squat with a bucket of water and some rags.” She adds.

It wasn’t the right attitude to linger, and Rosalie did not want to keep her very long in her encumbered state. Touched and frightened and maybe almost beginning to heal, Rosalie sees her to the door.

Victoria pauses from farewelling. “I didn’t … I didn’t tell you something so personal and irrelevant, did I?” She asked, a hint of embarrassment in her tone.

At this careful deliberation, Rosalie feels the colour rise to her cheeks. “No …” she disagrees quickly. She swallows painfully and spoke quietly. “I had a fancy city man, too …. I woke up with him on top of me, I don’t …” Rosalie huffs out a breath. “They don’t seem at all very good.”

At that, Victoria laughs, a hearty, long laugh, and Rosalie, not hysterical and all surprise, finds herself giggling along with her. It was like a loosened knot in her chest; still there, but not quite as large as it had been.

When she bids her goodbyes, Alice comes scampering out to show Rosalie a design for a modest but sweet little frock, and Rosalie excuses herself to tuck the cure away. Rosalie catches sight of Emmett’s curls once again, Victoria’s ambling escort home again. For a moment, Rosalie knows she could call out; they weren’t far and her voice carried.

But she watches, and they disappear down the hewn road.

Rosalie steps back out and finds Alice sat at the kitchen table, papers and papers in front of her. “What’s this?”

“Home keeping.” Alice looks perturbed and holds out a piece of paper. “Can you check my sums? I never – never any good at them.” Alice says haltingly.

Rosalie isn’t sure why, for that moment’s pause, Alice looks furtive, but it clicks when she skims the page and sees her spelling. Alice mustn’t have finished schooling, even for a woman; but Rosalie was certain here, that was not an oddity.

Rosalie looks down at the other papers, glancing over them quickly. Letters of business, Emmett’s wages, groceries and budgeting. It was easy to discern Jasper and Alice’s handwriting; the man’s hand was sure and scriptive, Alice’s was careful block letters, not wobbly, but each individually drawn. Much more uncertain at her letters than her skilled drawings.

Rosalie hums. “Ma McCarty does most of this ….” She says aloud. Alice gives a wordless whining keen and puts her chin on the table in mock-defeat. Rosalie laughs, and nods as she pulls out a chair. “Yes, I’ll help.”

They spend most of the mid-morning at the table, going over figures and Alice is extremely studious, so engrossed in her work she barely spares Rosalie a glance. It was close enough to solitude to suit Rosalie’s mood, though, and she finds relief in it.

 

The mood only cheers when the men come for lunch. Alice immediately sets aside the work and offers to rub Jasper’s knee if it was giving him pains. For his part, Jasper looks mortified by the suggestion, though by Alice’s open demeanour it may have very well been intended a utilitarian offer. But Emmett snorts loudly, coughing into his hand to mask the sound, the reaction which causes Alice to purse her own lips and blush considerably.

“Oh, do sit.” Rosalie tells Emmett irritably, and he does so with a light chuckle. As Jasper and Alice pack away their house-keeping, Emmett hums a little tune until Rosalie glances at him.

His big, broad frame is carefully to himself, and Rosalie supposes he was trying to give her space. “Did Vicky have a good talk with you?” He asks her.

“Of a kind.” Rosalie inclined her head. She certainly wasn’t going to go over the particulars, and Emmett didn’t seem to want any. “I was hoping, Emmett, that you’d take me back home,” Rosalie said, laying one of her hands over his. She petted his knuckles, once, as some sort of soothing. “I’d like to bring some sandwiches.” She said, as she felt the urge to thank her mother-in-law, something she had not thought to do last night.

Emmett looks surprised, and stiffly clasps Rosalie’s hand, before withdrawing. “Oh, no need. Ma’s cooking will suffice.” He says quickly, and mentions over to Alice, who was just sitting back down. “‘Sides, ain’t your kitchen.” He pointed out, looking sure in his reasonableness.

The show was belied by Alice, who only grins cheerfully, and chirps; “I won’t mind it!”

“Maybe so,” Emmett grunts, and looks a little irritated, “stays no need.” Rosalie looked at him shrewdly, and as he busied himself confirming the work to be done tomorrow with Jasper, he didn’t meet her gaze. Suspicious, Rosalie lightly asks if this was his attempt to waylay her. Emmett shoulders hunched and he looks mulish. “You keep your nose out ‘til it’s done.” He replied curtly, but sternness did not seem to have the ability to fix itself upon his face, it slipped off his chin like water and he’s smiling again. It almost makes Rosalie want to laugh.

“No, I won’t have it.” She told him archly, crossing her arms. “Mind I don’t tell Rebecca your attempt to separate us.” She threatened, and it was a threat. Of all her in-laws, Rebecca was her most precocious ally. Emmett knows it; the way he scowls and visibly shudders.

Alice giggles, and bats at Jasper’s arm gently. “We’ll walk you if he refuses!” She offers brightly, and even Jasper seems willing to tease, his lips quirked upwards as he nods along gallantly.

Emmett throws up his hands, huffing out; “Pray don’t! I’ll take you, lord mighty.”

“One for Rosalie.” Jasper counted, flicking a finger towards her, and Rosalie inclined her head proudly. She felt a little like the world was settling again; with her getting her way. It was spoilt, but it was comforting.

They have a very light meal; with Alice sitting on a chair with her back to the wood-burning stove, using a long-handled ladle to stir mushroom soup over her shoulder without having to turn away from the others. Rosalie voiced her preference for toasted bread with broths, and Jasper obligingly began to cut pieces of Ma McCarty’s barley loaf.

He takes it to the stove, but the telling pause and huff of breath that escapes him tells his friends his leg wouldn’t allow him to stand for long.

“Up to me, friend,” Emmett said brightly, taking the bread and opening the door to the fire within. He squatted beside Alice’s chair, and didn’t seem to mind the ash that speckled his curls. Rosalie made the sandwiches instead of carefully running her fingers through his hair to brush it out.

The lunch itself went quickly and with the mostly silent ease of firm friends. There was nothing outside of usual talk, though Alice relished relating the use of her title from Victoria.

“ _Very_ swell manners, I think!” Alice said proudly. Jasper reacted not at all, but Emmett was very amused.

Afterwards, Emmett cheerfully bid the Whitlocks goodbye, and made their way back, Rosalie carrying the food in a casserole dish, though not appropriate, a solid vessel.

Emmett takes her hand but continues to be uneasy. “I can take the sandwiches and turn you back – there will be no good conversation, and Ma will just chore you.” He told her stoutly.

“Another attempt, but I’m not easily persuaded.” Rosalie said, and he huffs as they continue in silence.

But his attitude isn’t completely unwelcoming or irritated; he does glance towards her frequently, but Rosalie is sure that his strange behaviour was nothing more than her harsh actions from the night of the Yorkie party.

She squares her shoulders and holds his gaze the next glance he gives her. “I don’t want to linger on … what I said the other night.” Rosalie says quietly. Emmett shakes his head. “That’s not to say I’m ready, or, that I was lying,” she continues, a spike of panic in her guts that he would take her words as encouragement. Uncomfortable with the position she’s put herself in, she looks away from his open expression, and towards the familiar cabin … with an added addition. “… what is that witch hat?” Rosalie asked.

She’s struck by the strange tent-shape structure on the opposite side of the main hall from Henry’s little den. It was mostly raw wood, and Rosalie saw what looked suspiciously like a door lying on the grass in front of it.

She looks at Emmett in confusion and is more surprised to find him bashful, rubbing the back of his neck. He explains that he’d been working at night to make them a little private space.

“For us?” Rosalie asks him faintly.

Emmett nods. “I know you may not want to be alone with me.” He says quickly, taking her arm and leading her towards it in an animated manner. “I was thinking maybe you and Sonny could sleep in it. You’re used to your space, I wanted to give you something that’s just yours.”

Rosalie leaves the dish on the ground next to the door and darts around the house, taking in the little dome shape and all. It did have straight walls, and a square base, with the conical roof. She was filled with wonder; in her mind, surely it took a small team of builders to make a house, even a room. How naïve she had been!

Emmett’s cautious, shy voice broke through her awe; “But I hope it can be ours, at some point.”

Rosalie was staggered – he was giving her space, he was offering her time. All that she’d wanted.

Rosalie finds herself smiling and stepping up to him with some put-upon coyness. He watches her, as she leans slowly over to him, and kisses him softly.

 

The McCarty’s were pleased enough with the sandwiches, but as Emmett expected, there was not a lot of conversation. Rosalie didn’t mind though, constantly darting to and from the window to see again her new little house.

Emmett was well pleased with her obvious eagerness, and went over every small detail of the construction, when it became obvious that Rosalie would leave the window and sit next to him to listen to his talk.

She did manage to spend some time with Ma McCarty, in a moment of unprecedented affection between them, both women laid out on a very old bench outside; mostly splinters and rusted bolts, looking out to the forest. The bench was left outside to scrape muddy boots before entering the house; made roughly of very wide beams; it fit them both very snug side-by-side, near diagonal with their feet on the floor.

Rosalie tucked her arms about herself, “I will take it tomorrow; and it will all be forgot.” She whispers into the night.

Ma’s breathing remains steady, a rhythmic shifting between their pressed-together arms. “Tomorrow, so be it. But it erases nothing; you’ll remember it always.” Ma says, her tone so slow to be almost drowsy. “Might be only a heavy bleeding; perhaps your belly is empty, and this ordeal has only been your imagining. But the ‘might’ will stay with you.”

Rosalie absorbed her words and nodding firmly. “I’ll be content with it.” She decides. Ma McCarty gives a low hum to acknowledge her words, but no other judgement that Rosalie can figure. It makes her feel much more secure, and she looks again to her little witch hut. “Thank you.” She says quietly.

Ma McCarty gives a great snore, then, signalling that she had fallen fast asleep, and Rosalie has to clap a hand over her mouth to stop her giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I ever going to make Rosalie's pregnancy status explicit? - Nope, and now you get to guess over Victoria. Pregnancy is a big ole question mark I don't know what you want from me. I also feel like I spend a lot of time on how weird Jasper and Alice are, which I just think is accurate.


	18. Chapter 18

Rosalie kept her delighted attitude with her when she went back to the Whitlocks before dinner. She didn’t want to spoil herself on Ma McCarty’s supper and disappoint Alice; who seemed to so enjoy cooking for three.

She was happy enough to assist in making the pie crust and doing the first bake. Alice hummed as she poured in the filling, which seemed nothing more than a very thick soup, and they went about mostly in silence. Rosalie didn’t miss conversation; her mind almost entirely focused on how different she felt then when she first woke up this morning.

The quiet tedium was broken by Jasper’s arrival in the late afternoon, and he sits very heavily almost immediately. He fields Alice’s concern by assuring her it was only a habitual twinge he had in his knee when rain was imminent.

When they were eating, Jasper is the first to point out her improved mood; “You seem incredibly better, Rosie.” He says, the better part of his face quirking upward a little. “You were out of spirits this morning.”

“I’m much better, thank you.” Rosalie assured him and went on to explain the wonderful gesture Emmett made, and how glad she was to finally have her own space. Jasper congratulated her sedately, and Rosalie was too well pleased with her future room to fully notice Alice’s quiet and sullen attention to her meal.

Rosalie insists on doing the dishes after their meal, and Alice seemed eased by her husband’s relatively stable gait to the green couch. “Please do not tell me the melancholy has spread to you.” Jasper says, as Alice fiddles with the radio.

Alice looked momentarily thrilled at his concern, but she’s still tense as she assures him of her health. But then requests he let them alone, as she had to be private with their guest.

Curious but calm, Jasper takes a book into the master bedroom obligingly. Alice was momentarily distracted with the hope that he might fall asleep there and he could wake up next to her.

Rosalie walked into the living room, shaking out her still-damp hands. She found Alice tucked onto the couch. The blonde looked faintly surprised at Alice’s demeanour, sitting next to her, expectant. “Rosalie, I have a confession.” Alice whispered.

Rosalie pursed her lips, her sharp violet eyes taking in Alice’s meek little figure. “You’re not going to say you’ve trimmed my puce frock with that beading you showed me yesterday, are you?” Rosalie asked her, voice mild despite her fierce expression. “Because I already told you I dislike dark beads.”

Alice shook her head. “No, but I do think you’ll look well in it.” Rosalie canted her head to the side, as though agreeing but not pleased with it, as Alice twisted her hands in her lap.

”But I had no intention … I didn’t mean to, but it’s quiet in the house and you weren’t so very far away …” Alice mumbled, and Rosalie told her to just spit it out already.

“I heard what you said to Victoria when she was taking leave.” Alice’s own eyes were as wide as Rosalie’s, and each looked completely stricken with the other. “About that awful city man …. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Rosalie fought to keep her breathing under control. Alice looked wretched, and Rosalie was at least glad it was only her own past aired. “It’s fine.” Rosalie said, and Alice grabbed up her hand and squeezed it very hard. “I can trust a friend.” She says quietly. Alice’s dark-bug eyes light up, and she throws her twiggy arms around the blonde, squealing a little in the back of her throat.

The rest of the night passes slowly; Jasper emerges from the bedroom, and the house settles for the night.

It’s surprising that there’s a knock at the door; and Rosalie isn’t dressed for any company, so she stays in her room.

Alice looks pleased enough to go and open it, though she isn’t any more dressed than her guest.

“Alice! You’re only wearing your nightgown!” Rose hisses as Jasper bypasses her to the door.

“It’s only _Emmett_ ,” Alice assures them, to Rosalie’s great surprise, but Jasper waves her from the hallway.

“Regardless, he’ll have no business this late with you.” Jasper tells her as he opens the door.

Emmett looks a bit puffed but relatively cheerful, and Jasper lets him in to see his wife at his request, before the man limps into Alice’s bedroom.

“I wouldn’t come so late,” he said, slightly breathless, “but Victoria had some spasms, so we were rounding the whole clan.” He explains.

Alice gasps and claps gleefully. Rosalie felt a thrill through her at the words, and her gaze flittered between her husband and the inside of her room; looking for her boots without moving from the doorway. “You mean she’s in labour now?” Rosalie asks him urgently.

Emmett shook his head, ambling up to her door. “Oh – came to nothing; false, entirely.” He says to her quickly.

Jasper returns with a shawl for Alice and the three make a small conference between the kitchen and the guestroom. “No reason for me to have come at all, but I wanted to see my wife.” He says, play-acting something missish to their hosts.

“Well, good!” Rosalie declares, and her admonishing tone causes Emmett to frown sharply. “I expect next time for you to fetch me first! I want to be there for the birth.” She warns him sternly.

At that, Emmett grins and promises.

With no concerns of his, and friends too comfortable to play host to, Jasper is ready to excuse himself to set up his cot in the living room. Emmett frowns, puzzled at the word ‘cot’, but politely bids his sometime-boss and oft-time friend goodnight. Rosalie watches, as Emmett looks to Alice, at her open apprehension of his questions, and voices nothing at all.

For her part, the little woman is visibly relieved, and excuses herself to bed as well.

After a moment of silence, Emmett catches Rosalie’s eye. She doesn’t allow herself to be frightened if he asked to stay with her. But he waves to the backdoor, just by the workroom. “Won’t mind if I take you to the porch?” He asked her. “Ran through town to get Henry and back to Lenny’s hut; the outside air will cool me down.”

Indeed, several of his curls were stuck to his forehead, and when Rosalie takes his hand after she dons her slippers, his palm is hot and damp.

They sit together on the step and seem content to star gaze. “I’ve been harsher than you deserve.” Rosalie said into the dark. She couldn’t look at him; but it was true. In all the fuss of leaving every bad thing behind her, she hadn’t dwelt properly on where she’d end up. On _who_ she’d end up _with_. She could feel his warm brown eyes on her.

 “Maybe so. We both lied a little, I don’t want that anymore.”

“Nor I.” Rosalie agreed readily, there was a little satisfaction in it. “… I came here to distance myself from the past.” Rosalie went on to explain, twisting her fingers together, and trying to be careful. “I just wanted to feel better, more like myself again.”

While Rosalie was accustomed to bearing the brunt of a man’s attention, she felt as though she’d never been _seen_ quite like this before. His eyes were keen, his voice was quiet; “Do you?”

She felt a laugh out of her throat before she could help it. “Not at all!” She said easily and shook her head. “It’s not a bad thing.” She assured him easily. She thought on the immediate hospitality she received, the growing idea that this was even a life someone like her could ease into. “I didn’t expect to find a family that could be mine, and a man I could love, one day.”

Emmett’s hands had hers firmly and pulled them towards him. “As long as that man is me, then I can wait for you to love me in return.” He says, and when Rosalie turns to meet his gaze he’s already there; pressing their foreheads together and smiling. “I _do_ love you, Rosie.”

Rosalie inclines her head, and at his mentioning, she rests her head on his shoulder, his arm curled around her, and they watch the blue-black shadows of trees shift in a wind that doesn’t touch them.

 

Alice was intent not to spy on her friends; it just so happened the window in her workroom was open, and nearer the back porch. Enough for her to hear them and be pleased for them.

There’s a small shuffle; of a confident step but every second one heavier, that signalled Jasper at the door.

Alice looked over at him. She’d lit no lamps and planned to do no crafts. She was simply enjoying the moonlight, coincidentally close to the couple outside.

Though he was mostly shadow from the light in the kitchen, Alice could still see his raised brow.

“I thought you were going to bed.” He says, but his tone is more amused than bemused.

“Just enjoying such cool air.” Alice whispered at him with a grin. Her chin resting on her interlocked fingers, elbows on her desk. “Not at all as humid as a Mississippi night, this time of year,” she muses, heart light and giddy at her friends’ hinted happiness.

Her attention back to the window, she fails to notice her husband’s grave face. Jasper watches her; bathed in moonlight, stretched gracefully at the table like one of the fae. She looked almost as though she’d unfold dragonfly wings and flit right out the window. Alice looked not at all as though she was despairing over her deformed husband. What could a woman so lithe and lovely be hiding from, to prefer Jasper Whitlock? He’d find out.

 _Mississippi_ … _she’s young, she has the accent, she may well could have been born there._ Jasper thinks intently. It was somewhere to start his search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Bella next chapter, let's see what she's up to.


	19. A Shooting Party, A Piano Lesson, A Dress Fitting

Bella looked over with some dismay the state of her lodgings, and the state of her purse.

“I shouldn’t have stayed ….” Bella muttered to herself, sounding rueful and silly. She wouldn’t have stayed in the hotel, really, if not for those fiery green eyes ….

She was at least very grateful for the dinner invitation from Mr Newton and his Lauren. It was at least one meal she didn’t have to fret over. She was preparing herself for the dinner now, and sat at the slightly chipped mirror, trying to work on her hair.

She was getting increasingly worried about Lauren, though. The woman was deeply unhappy with her match; they had not consummated it, and Lauren felt that was more than justly a reason for divorce. But moreover, this intense discontent seemed only from her; Newton was more than happy with his lot and seemed forever cheerful when he spoke to Bella.

It frustrated her, deeply, that despite all her warnings, one of the girls would still hold her to the match at so late and irreversible a stage. She hadn’t cheated Lauren at all; a husband she had got, and soundly. But divorce Bella had not considered.

Huffing with her unruly not-quite-curls, she reached for her good combs, and stopped. Only one left now. Bella shook herself harshly from her remorse; she had placed the bet knowingly.

She refocused on Lauren. Why would she even consider divorce? Bella was raised by two parents who, until their untimely end, had truly not loved each other equal. They had both loved _her_ ; but in her mother was a deep discontent that Bella recognised within herself. In her father, a despair over her mother’s inclination to the insouciant.

In Bella’s life; first her mother and now even Lauren, there was a pattern of lovelorn men with wives’ hearts drifting away.

“What good is a desire to be a wife, without the tenacity to stay?” Bella asked herself, angry, for a moment, at the audacity of her own sex. “Is it a want to be but a bride? Is a wedding day worth the man that follows?”

But Lauren had not had a wedding day; was it the parade Bella had led them on? As the salient cargo and eagerly coveted presentation? The woman hadn’t even enjoyed the journey!

Bella sighed heavily, promising to herself that her mother’s agitation in her marriage would not be genetic.

“I hold to my _own_ convictions!” Bella grumbled. Did she not bring the brides? Was she not planning her library?

Is she not allowing for a moment of self-doubt?

 

Edward walked some ways ahead of Rosalie and Alice, which suited them both just fine. Rosalie considered the pretty young man wretched and useless. She was grateful of nothing from his company but the escort and the teasing that was easy to send him into sulks. Alice considered him a good close friend, and entertaining. She wanted him over for dinner most nights, if Edward and Jasper would oblige, which was rare.

It seemed Edward’s mulish ways and taciturn singularity earnt him no friends up until the bride’s auspicious arrival. Save an extremely obliging and reckless mountain man, and a once-solider as reserved as he was disfigured. Both more than happy to ignore his wanton moods as they were to leave him holed in his room to continue them.

But with the girls came out a funny difference in his attitude; a boyish agreeable nature to escort them, when their husbands have done something to upset them.

It had all started in a silly way that morning.

 Emmett had half of his pay from his errant farming job from his stern mother, used quickly to buy himself buckshot, and had found it cause to visit the Whitlock’s, and his wife.

“Well hello!” Alice had answered, no doubt having heard Emmett’s whistling up the path, and lacks surprise at his holding a rifle. Emmett had barely announced pleasantries before jovially demanding the fiercest hunter. “It’s I – Artemis!” Alice declared and was laughed at.

Jasper seemed more than willing to go along, preparing with a sedate carefulness that was either equal parts his leg and his own experiences. Alice watched dubiously as two rifles, a net, a spear and four very large hunting knives made a pile on her low-end table. Emmett sorted through it and called for whetstone, and Jasper loped off again to comply.

Then Alice began to smile and moved to wait at the door. She stood there a moment, until there was a knocking. Edward was revealed when Alice threw the door open. He looked at Emmett and the assortment on the table and huffed. “Oh wonderful – people.” He said in lieu of a greeting and walked in to pick up one of the knives.

“Shooting, Teddy.” Emmett declared. “Just the day for it!”

Alice put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “No it isn’t.” She replied. “You’ll barely catch a creature between you. Besides, it’s too likely to rain.”

Emmett was rallying them both for being dower, as Jasper had said nothing of his knee. Edward said he was as ready to believe Little Miss Mary as he was Jasper’s knee, and they all turned around when Jasper came in and demanded answers.

Jasper looked taken aback and glanced down at the inflexible leg. “Not much help – can’t tell if the ache is finishing the fencing or the sky. Might just.” He said mildly. Emmett was affronted by the vague reply, and Edward and Alice both put on an act of pitying their ruined hunting trip.

“Oh, such a terrible shame! They’ll catch nothing but a cold!” Edward bemoaned them.

Alice nodded quickly; corners of her rose-bud mouth pulled down. “Nothing but salt pork for dinner, then!” She declared.

Unfortunate it was then that Rosalie had been ready to present herself, a vision to her besotted husband. She was dressed in a pretty purple gown and matching shoes; glad to be out of her boots.

“You look …” Emmett began, eyes wide and awed.

Edward was less moved. “You look garishly overdressed” He declared with something that would be a sneer on a less handsome face. “It’s daytime.” Rosalie glared at him but couldn’t form a retort when Alice crouched down to fuss at her skirts.

“This hem is fraying!” Alice argues her when Rosalie tried to shoo her away.

“We’re going hunting!” Emmett declared, shaking himself from his own stupor as Jasper gathered the supplies. “Wish us luck!”

At his words, Rosalie looks mortally offended. “I certainly shan’t!” She snapped. “It’s a barbaric sport; no man in New York partakes outside of the season. Do you even run hounds?”

“No need for dogs.” Jasper cocks his head to the side, his tone amused. “Would it surprise you that there is no shortage of local fauna?”

Alice hummed and tugged at Jasper’s sleeve, prompting him to look down at her. “You won’t _upset_ anyone out there, will you?” She asks carefully.

Jasper seems to understand that this new village was not alone; was built on land that was not untouched. “They steer clear of us and do so much quieter than we manage.” He explains.

“I don’t care for it, and I won’t hear anymore.” Rosalie decided, doubtful that she’d listened to Jasper at all, as she steps up to Emmett and tugs on his arm. “Better to take me shopping, you’ve gotten your pay today.”

 “Unfortunately, there are no New York gentlemen present, and the pay went to buckshot and ma.” Emmett’s saucy grin was met with a fierce scowl from Rosalie.

Alice was quick to skip up to her and offer to shop with her instead.

“I have the headache now,” Rosalie informed them all primly. “I doubt I’ll be able to leave.” She growled, and marched immediately back into her room, slamming the door behind her.

Astonished at the behaviour, Edward and Emmett had turned to the only other female present in the room. But little Alice could offer nothing by way of explanation; though she had begged Edward take them to town, if the men were to be occupied. Jasper absently thanked him for the escort, “you’re a good boy to do it.” Jasper had told him.

“Well!” Edward huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m a man! Perhaps I’ll join you?” He suggested, his tone indignant and threatening.

At that, Emmett rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Pray don’t!” The man argued. “You always say you’re bored.”

Jasper counted each point he made on his fingers with patient frankness; “You don’t like hunting, you have no rifle, and moreover, no skill.”

With a mixture of irritation and boredom, Edward relented with no grace. “Fine, to take the wives out.” He grumbled, and turned to Alice’s budding excitement with gravity, declaring; “We’ll make them very sorry indeed!” To the little woman’s eager agreement.

So after the men had left, Rosalie and Alice were left trotting along after Edward, who had, it seemed, forgotten any insult, and was scribbling overtures in a small pocketbook. They meandered towards the town and would by all accounts end up in nowhere but the whole goods store, as there wasn’t any other place to shop for non-essentials such as clothes, except for the cobbler/hat shop Emmett’s elder sister Lenore ran.

For Edward, this went back the way he came from; the doctor’s house was stationed the closest to the other inhabitants. Passing by, Alice was struck by a pleasant notion; “Suppose Esme would want to come out?”

“Suppose!” Edward declared with distaste, rounding on her primly. “Unlike _you_ ladies, she has duties!”

Alice giggled at his chiding tone, but Rosalie is only sour. “But she would!” The blonde retorted. “That man must run her ragged!”

“Perhaps performing more than two chores in a day runs _you_ ragged!” Edward said, looking very cross at the slight against his benefactor, however unharmed. “Carlisle is a good, and very important man, with the need of an assistant,”

He looks as if he’d continue, until Alice’s nods heartily saying; “I think he’s so very kind! Very … _avuncular_ , you know.” Alice sighs, looking off into the trees with feeling. “I think it’s such a shame he’s all alone ….”

“Oh?” Rosalie asked her, growing amused as she jostled the woman with their linked arms. “Doomed to spinsterdom, is he? Too old for love?”

Edward’s agitation grew at their peels of giggles, and he seemed at the moment, far younger than them both. “You should both stop it, or I’ll send you straight home!”

 

It was listless shopping through the same meagre selection that they ran into Isabella Swan.

“Hello Bella!” Alice had greeted her, and Bella had returned the same. Rosalie pretended to be too engrossed in a package of soap to notice her, and Edward had gone down a different aisle.

He’d found them swiftly enough, though only to usher them from the store again. He’d quite forgotten a piano lesson he’d meant to teach Jessica Yorkie, and at her particularly insistence he would be obliged to stay for dinner.

“Everyone else is out for the evening! Why, Bella going to call upon Lauren for dinner, and what of us?” Alice cried, looking a little sulky. She had been ignoring the notion of going home, as hunting would take all day and she’d likely not see much of her husband until the rain finally broke.

Edward didn’t seem at all sympathetic to such a plight. “You recall Rosalie is at your house as a guest?”

Rosalie tossed her proud head. “I want to call on Esme!” She declared. “She’ll be more than happy to have us.” She reasoned.

Edward, mindful now of potential tardiness, did agree to take them straight to his own home, as it would save him time. Also, it was very likely Esme _would_ be glad to see them.

 

Three women crowded the small living room, Esme stood on a stool, while Alice measured her skirts, and Rosalie offered her own suggestions to the alteration of her frock. Edward descended the stairs two at a time, his long legs taking him to the door with ease. “I’m off!” He announced to them as he opened the door, a chorus of goodbyes following him.

On the other side, Carlisle grinned at him. “I’m in,” he declared in the same tone, and doffing his hat at the younger man. “Good day, sir!”

Edward smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I shall say, sir, you _do_ look very avuncular today!” He commended.

“I look - _what?_ ” Carlisle asked, bewildered as Edward passed him by, and was making his way down the road.

Bemused but not pressingly so, Carlisle steps further inside, glancing around brightly for the last occupant of the house. He stepped into the living room door way, unnoticed. As Alice darts around Esme with excitement. “It’s fetching!” The little woman declared proudly.

Esme frowns at the slighter tighter fight around her legs and hips, looking uncertain. “It’s too youthful, Alice.”  She muttered. “I’m not like you young ones, it’s too much.”

Rosalie snorted, she sat with no grace, her elbows on her knees, better vantage to cast a critical gaze over the pinned and puckered seams of the skirt. “Esme, please, you needn’t match your employer for modesty.” She said heavily. “You shall wait for our pastor to realise this is _not_ the medieval age.”

That startled a laugh out of Carlisle himself, and he felt some kind of friendly pleasure at seeing all women jump in surprise at his presence. “Well, my most gracious thanks, Mrs McCarty.” He says to Rosalie, as Esme steps primly down from the stool, and Alice greets him with a handshake that _swings_ more than shakes.

At mild surprise, Rosalie’s expression darkens, and her lips curl. “Pettish, hardly becoming of a man, isn’t it Esme?” She asked archly. Her caustic reaction didn’t respond well to Carlisle’s light-hearted intentions, who looks taken aback.

But Esme frowns, and presses the back of her fingers to the side of Rosalie’s face, as though checking her temperature. “Rosalie, are you quite alright?” She asked, her tone higher with disapproval at her snappish words. Rosalie ducks away from her hand, which causes her to sway as she stands simultaneously.

“Perfectly fine.” The blonde said, but her brow was still furrowed, lips tight. “You’re not a matron, Esme, an ankle will not ruin you.” She says and takes up to teacup to lurch over to the fireplace, as Esme looks down at her own slippers.

Esme seemed to be musing, and Carlisle takes the moment to hang his hat, and pet Alice’s hand before she scampers over to remove her measuring tape from his usual chair. His concerned gaze was on Rosalie, who stares straight into the fire.

 “Well … I have fat feet.” Esme says, her voice nervy, as though she were ashamed. “My ankles are hardly worth a look.” She adds, dropping her skirt immediately as Carlisle takes his seat.

“I would disagree,” Carlisle said, louder than he had intended, and is unfortunate to gain the attention of all the ladies present. He takes a moment to allow his face to become very red under Esme’s startled look, “if it were appropriate.” He managed. “Yet it is not, I apologise.”

“ _Carlisle_ ,” Esme says, her voice heavier for trying to contain her laughter, watching as the mortified man avoids her eye as he studiously fixes himself a cup of tea, “at your pace we’ll never be friends!” She admonishes.

Alice grins at Carlisle’s fluster, but steps in front of Rosalie, whose face seemed to have a sheen of sweat. “Rosalie, do you have the headache again?” She asked her friend quietly, looking concerned.

Rosalie puts her cup on the mantle with a clatter, garnering the attention of everyone, as she presses her hands into her own belly. “I’m afraid not.” She grunted.

Esme was at her side and easing her towards the couch in an instant. “Please sit, dear, you look frightful.” Rosalie was pale and her breath stuttered, as she was eased onto the cushions again.  Esme turned all but her head to Carlisle, brow creased as she held out a hand, eyes on the young woman. “Poor dear, would you look at her?”

Carlisle reached out, as though to take her hand. “Of course, dear.” He said, and on the last word, he immediately dropped his hand, became red in the face all over again, and allowed himself only a moment froze up like one of the animals the husbands of the women here were gone to catch. He turned to Alice, her frightened wide eyes already gazing on him, and told her to fetch a basin of water and vinegar to bathe Rosalie’s temples with.

“No!” Rosalie snaps viciously, taking a very laboured breath, grabbing up Alice’s hand before she could dart away. “No, I’m fine.”

Alice looked at the fingers leaving nail marks in her arm, and to Esme, who was beginning to look very stern. “Perhaps she became over-heated in the room.” Alice offered loyally. “Fresh air might help.”

“Just the women!” Rosalie snapped again; not like a haughty deb, but a wounded animal. Her desperation struck a cord with Esme, who pulled her into an embrace as she grunted with pain again.

Carlisle looked hurt at the young woman’s refusal, and incredibly concerned, but held his protest at Esme’s heavy look.

Alice still looked fretful but nodded hesitantly. “I’ll gather the coats.” She murmured and ducked out of the room.

Rosalie seemed attempting to drag in breathes in a steady rhythm, and Esme shushed her soothingly.

Carlisle dithered in front of them, looking irritated at his own inaction. “Rosalie, perhaps you should rest in Esme’s cottage, you aren’t well enough to walk.” He tried gently.

But Rosalie only shook her head. “No, I’ll be better quite soon, I know it.” Her strained voice was stubborn through, and Carlisle and Esme exchanged an agitated look. Their agitation only grew when the pittering of light rain started hitting the roof.

At that, even Esme looked unwilling, stating she had no wish to turn from nurse to patient. “It’s only a light drizzle!” Rosalie argued. But Rosalie was so insistent on walking, and it seemed nothing short of strapping her down would keep her still.

Alice stood with their coats and gently called Rosalie, who left Esme’s hold to walk, almost upright to join the little woman at the door.

Esme paused a moment, and reached out, squeezing Carlisle’s hand and looking very gentle.

“It’ll be alright, dear, I’ll take care of her.” Esme reassured him and trotted after the two young ladies swiftly.

Carlisle sat back down heavily, looking slightly dazed, one hand clenched into a fist.

 

In the Yorkie house, Edward found the lesson was slow and almost painful. He imagined that, if teaching were all but the skill and determination of the student, then this lesson was doomed from the start. Mostly, Jessica Now-Yorkie seemed to revel in entreating Edward to play whatever piece she picked, and shower him handsomely with compliments to his talent, before choosing yet another piece for him.

Edward acquiesced and followed as she bid – she was after all still being billed. After some time, the maid Kim, announced that dinner was ready. The dinner was almost as tedious, or had every sign of being so, if not for a visitor.

Kim let in a visitor just as the two had sat down for the meal, Edward eyeing the candles on the table with apprehension as the hostess jumped from her seat and jostled them. “Lauren!” Jessica declared, looking pleased. “About time you made it!”

The woman smiled congenially, as she took the seat with the only other plate set out. “Hello Jessica!” The woman chirped. “Hello Mr Cullen.”

Edward frowned in mounting confusion; he had assumed the third plate for Eric Yorkie and looked at Lauren in bemusement.

“You’re come for dinner?” He asked, and she inclined her head as she tossed her napkin onto her lap. “What of Miss Swan?” He asked, Alice’s earlier comment springing to his mind; _Bella going to call upon Lauren for dinner’_.

Jessica frowned; her expression mostly curious. “What of her? I did only invite my good friend.” She explained graciously.

Edward’s brilliant green eyes narrowed, and his mouth thinned into a line. “But … oh, surely not!” He exclaimed, standing immediately and scowling at Lauren. “But you have the sneakiest husband, if I’ve ever met a coward!” He declared.

“Edward!” Jessica gasps.

“I daresay that’s true.” Lauren said easily, her tone mostly bored. “You needn’t shout about it.” She added drolly.

Edward threw his napkin aside and stormed out the door, declaring that he would do much more than shout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part more than any inspired by Georgette Heyer. Whatever, I know you guys aren't expecting a constant type of narrative, it's gonna jump between modern and stilted and you know that!  
> But within me I find a restlessness that says I might be posting more frequently not to satisfy myself or you, but because I am by and large stagnant in life and mind.


	20. Causing a Scene in a Scenic Place

The three women walked at an excruciating pace. Rosalie’s every laboured step was heavily assisted by both Esme and Alice.. But as she was taller than them both, it made for an awkward, lumbering gaggle. While the rain was light, they were soon shivering and Alice in particular was very pale around her mouth.

“If you can’t walk we are turning right around,” Esme finally threatened, stopping where she stood. “I _shall_ carry you.”

Rosalie cast a very disgusted eye over Esme, as though doubting she could manage the feat, but was deeply offended by the criticism of her walking. “It’s just my menses.” Rosalie hisses. “Never agrees with me, I’d not have a man see it.”

Alice tutted at the illogicality.  “He’s a _doctor_ , he’s seen it before!” She argues. “If you’ve bled right through your skirts ….” Alice’s eyes become unfocused, and her stare is thousands of miles away. Esme watches her, confused and concerned, until she blinks herself back to the present. “Oh, we’ll have to wait.” Alice says, hurrying forward without either of them. “We have to go into town.”

“Alice?” Esme called after the little figure, “Alice! Where is she going?” She asks, but Rosalie only takes another determined step forward.

“Well, we’d best catch her.” Rosalie grunts, looking almost pleased with the reason to continue on. Esme scowls harshly, though her gentle grip on the girl’s elbow doesn’t waver as she shoves her dampening hair behind her ear.

 

The hunting had gone well enough, but they weren’t able to take the entire day as planned. Unfortunately for Emmett’s pride; the little Whitlock was right – it had started to rain.

Jasper was strapping enough to carry the stag around his shoulders but slipping on a patch of damp leaves made a terrible pair for his already weak knee, and the subsequent twist unnerved them both. The deer were left at Jasper’s porch, and they’d made to head to Pastor, to check Jasper’s knee before stripping the meat for salting.

Emmett heard his name being called before he even spotted little miss, waving her hand at him with an air of impatience.

“Why, we weren’t meant to come along you! We’re looking for _deer_.” Emmett explains slowly, before grinning as he sees Rosalie. “Hello dear!”

“Oh, enough of that!” Alice says, looking very worried, grabbing up her husband’s sleeve when he walked up to her. “It’s Edward!”

“What’s wrong?” Emmett asks intently, but not to Alice; the man had quickly realised his wife was in such a state.

“Make haste!” Alice declared, the order ridiculous in her high voice, but obedient in their wilderment, the group does follow her towards town.

They tromp in a relative straight line. Emmett all but tucks his wife against his own side to support her, as she harshly insists she doesn’t need to be carried. Esme puffs behind them all; getting incredibly tired from the over-excitement and worry than the short walk warranted. Alice leads them to the general store, and up again to the flat above it.

Edward stood in the doorway, taller and slimmer than Michael, but appeared to be successfully menacing the man all the same. Bella Swan stood just inside the door, next to the owner; but her stormy expression made it clear she wasn’t pleased to be there.

“You’re a scoundrel!” Edward declared to the other man.

“What on earth …” Jasper mutters, eyeing the arguing men with a professional eye. His intimate knowledge of all forms of violence informed him that he wouldn’t be needing to strain himself. Neither of these men knew how to fight.

Michael stammered, and only Bella had noticed the small crowd gathered on the stairs. She made an aborted hand motion, and Jasper waved Emmett in front of him.

“Best grab him up.” Jasper told the larger man, and Emmett nodded obligingly, gentling Rosalie up against the stair railing for support.

It wasn’t a moment too soon that the curly-haired man stepped up right behind Edward, as Edward drew his fist back, as though to land a blow, and Emmett was more than happy to wrap his own arms around the man and squeeze him quite tightly. “Oh there!” Emmett boomed with satisfaction as Edward squawked with confusion and indignation. “Daresay, Teddy-boy, you’ll have us turned out of every home in this here town!” Emmett complained in a light tone, swinging Edward around to drop him in front of Esme, who’s incredibly disapproving look stopped him dead.

“What?” Michael groused. “What wrongness have I committed? My wife chose to dine with a friend, as did I, it’s no matter!” He protested, but he very much refused to make eye contact with Bella, who shouldered past him ungraciously and made her way down the stairs.

“Oh?” Edward rounded on him again, “You mean to tell me that Miss Swan agreed to dine with you alone?” He asked archly.

“I did not.” Miss Swan inclined her head towards Edward and continued down the steps in a measured pace. “Thank you, I’m leaving now.” Her applied dignity was slightly hindered by the way she stumbled on the slippery step around Rosalie but righted herself hurriedly. Michael looked after her with wide eyes and said nothing else at all.

“Well, let’s all go. It’s not the weather for it.” Esme ushered everyone back down the stairs. “Come now, Teddy.” She says in a slightly more soothing tone.

But Edward doesn’t follow the others immediately. “What will your wife think, when she finds out?” Edward asked Michael.

The man only scowls harshly. “It was the reason she chose to dine out!” He snapped.

Alice had skipped down the steps after Bella and waits at the end for Rosalie to be eased down with Emmett and Jasper. “The nerve of him!” Alice declared to Bella, “A married man!”

But the woman doesn’t match her concern. “I won’t pretend to think it matters.” She said, her tone resigned and annoyed. “I will not break any of the matches I’ve made here.” There was something very cold in the look of her eyes, and Alice visibly balked, busying herself with taking her husband’s arm.

Jasper made a low humming sound and met Bella’s gaze with a similar feeling, causing the woman to drop her eyes to the ground.

“You’re very pale.” Jasper told Alice; and her dark eyes were the brightest hue in her face.

“It’s this rain! Only a little wind and I’m chilled through.” Alice complained, looking not at all bothered and slightly out-of-breath. She had the shortest steps of all of them and trotted to not be left behind. “I’m not blessed with stoutness, that’s what my mother used to say. Though I suppose she hoped I’d grow much better.”

Esme glances uneasily at Bella, still obviously upset. “… Well, we’ll come to wish you goodnight ….” She offers, and the party all make their way to the hotel in mostly silence.

Emmett frowns as another pained grunt escapes his wife. “Rosie, let me carry you ….” He begs gently.

“If you jostle me so much,” Rosalie says in low tones. “I’ll stain my skirts, no thank you.”

Emmett cocked his head to the side. “Stain – oh!” His eyes widened, as he glanced down at her skirts, as though to see a blood stain form under his eyes. “You’re vexing, why not stay at home and rest?” He says, not looking at all disconcerted with the subject. “I’ll warm some stones for you in the ashes for your back.”

Rosalie was surprised at his cavalier attitude towards her menses, but Emmett only grins. “I have four sisters, Rosie, it’s nothing to shock me.”

Slightly annoyed at he hadn’t immediately avoided her situation, and left her well alone, Rosalie clasps onto Esme, to see Bella to her room, while the men wait outside.

Bella pauses at the door to her room. “You came to me, for this service,” Bella says lowly, her eyes very shiny. “I don’t understand why on earth you’d complain about it now.” She hisses.

Esme looks pityingly at the frustrated woman, and Alice frowns in an understanding way. “Thank you, Miss Swan.” Says Rosalie. “You’re done very well by us.” As though to prove it, the haughty blonde deigned to pet Bella’s shoulder once; like a hypochondriac soothing the sick.

“Yes, thank you, Bella!” Alice chirped, clasping her hands warmly. “Sleep well.”

Bella inclined her head and closed the door without another word.

 

Edward had calmed significantly by the time they reach the motel, no doubt very pleased at usurping Micheal’s plan, whatever that had been. Emmett looked a little consternated, eyeing the flight of stairs the women had taken. Jasper’s ferocious gaze rested solely on Edward.

The bachelor was unmoved. “You needn’t glare so very much, Whitlock.”

“I don’t particular find myself so civil to a man who’d drag my wife into the affairs of others.” Jasper tells him lowly. His next words are spat out like a threat, “If she’s turned away from the general store due to your impudence,”

“Oh, as if I had the intention?” Edward scowled and threw his head proudly. “I assure you, I didn’t request for her to meddle. I didn’t expect any of you at all.” He continued bitterly. “I was more than capable of handling the situation.”

Emmett had expected Jasper to say something in response and blinked at the man’s continued silence. It sat unreasonable in the air. “Well … it’s fortunate then, that she knew!” Emmett said with a bit of forced cheer. “You can’t make such a fuss over a man daring to have dinner!” He added, dimpling at Edward.

But Edward only raised an eyebrow. “Miss Swan made it very clear she wasn’t aware of the circumstances, and I am very disappointed that you’d defend his actions!” He says bossily, “I’m sure neither of you are cruel enough to wish she’d not been helped at all.”

Emmett slunk towards Jasper, just a touch, slightly smarting at Edward’s accusation of his lack of gallantry. “Well, he’s not got the stones to _do_ anything,” Emmett reasoned, and continued, “probably planned nothing but to try and woo a pretty girl! Can’t punch him for that!” Emmett gave a booming laugh at that.

“He’s _married_ , Emmett!” Edward said, looking very shocked, and looked very offended at the implication that his daring rescue was for naught.

“Naivety in a man is not charming, Ted.” Jasper told him sternly, but he was smiling as Edward, appalled, looked between the two of them with astonishment.

“Regardless, I had meant _you_ can’t throw a punch.” Emmett added, grinning again.

“Oh,” that flustered Edward considerably and he huffs, as though insulted by his own raising smile. “Very well!” He said, lips tellingly twitching upwards as Emmett sniggered.

But Jasper was lost in thought. While the idea of some private conference between Edward and his wife hadn’t sat right with him at all, he was glad it was sole fantasy. Yet how on earth _had_ Alice known to find her friend in need, if he had not told her?

Jasper watches as the three women descend the stairs, offering his arm to Alice to lead her home. Alice takes it, at first distracted with how looked after she felt the offer, until she realised that her husband leant on her heavily, letting out a small grunt as they stepped over the uneven road.

Esme had to hurry a little to catch up to Edward’s long stride and caught his elbow to slow him down. He complied willingly, looking over to her as she spoke sternly; “Edward, I simply cannot condone violence. Perhaps it was inappropriate for Miss Swan to dine alone with a man,”

“Suspicious, if that.” Rosalie butted in to say, trying to look very superior for a woman near doubled-over in pain and a hulking husband clucking over her like a hen.

Esme hummed a little sharply and continued in a milder tone. “But it’s no reason to cause a scene. You could have just as easily escorted Miss Swan from the premises with some decorum.”

“It’s not as heroic then!” Emmett argued with a light laugh, which ended in an unhappy whine as Rosalie yet again shrugged off his aiding hands.

“Stop,” Rosalie told him, before turning a bright eye on Esme, “Is he capable is being _inconspicuous?_ ”

“This town isn’t scenic enough on its own!” Alice joined in with laughter in her voice. “It needed another one!”

“I _tried_ , but he insisted his wife would be back soon,” Edward explained with a sneer, “as though I hadn’t run into her at another dinner party entirely.” He continued, though privately he thought perhaps Michael had only meant he had precious little time with Miss Swan alone and hadn’t wanted any interference. “I can’t stand deceit.”

At his last words, Esme seemed willing to leave him be, and settles for shaking her head, and petting his arm.

“You were just offended that someone dare try and act as though you don’t know everything that happens in this town.” Jasper told him, and his wife tittered loyally, Edward was very pointedly ignoring him.

 Esme attempted to cajole Rosalie into being carried. In the end, Emmett does end up carrying Rosalie a little, she grows very pale in the face, though her neck and ears are flushed a deep red. She is only able to waive the concern of the group by promising to be checked over by Carlisle if her condition worsens.

 

Emmett remained at the Whitlock house; declaring he wouldn’t leave unless his wife chased him out herself. As that would prove her well enough to stand on her own. Alice had agreed that it would be the only thing to make him part with them, as she was grateful for his presence that night. Jasper’s knee had deteriorated since the trip with the stag on his back; he hadn’t been able to even kneel to stoke the fire in the living room. But Emmett was glad to be of help.

Esme and Edward parted with them, with the stern order by the woman that any complaints she would have Carlisle come to visit at breakfast to check over both Whitlock and the Once-Hale.

 Jasper had been confined to the couch, as Emmett tromped around the house, putting away all hunting gear. Alice brought Jasper his novel and sat as he motioned her to next to him. “You were very concerned for your friend.” Jasper told her; his voice laboured either considering the friendship between his wife and the mail-man or his pained knee. “But I have known him longer; his tempers always peter out in time.” Jasper assured her gently.

But Alice appeared chipper enough without the kind words, though grateful for them. “I’ll wager three days.” She says and her cheeks flush red when her words elicit a slightly startled laugh from Jasper.

“I’ll not take up against you.”

“Clever.” Alice said, sounding very pleased as she shuffled slightly closer to him. “Did you have good hunting?” She enquired.

“Deer each, good enough.” Jasper replied, his ease with no pleasure implying a farm-raised boy. Jasper’s half-sharp gaze flickers to Emmett, who dithers at the door of the guest room. The guest residing inside can be heard grumbling slightly. “Is Rosie alright?” He asks quietly.

“Routine affliction.” Alice supplies immediately, though it’s not clear Jasper understands from his mild hum. “Very stable routine happens every month.” She adds, shrugging as Jasper’s good ear goes red and he huffs out a breath, both boyishly uncomfortable and more mannishly so. When he meets Alice’s eyes again, he looked surprised at her concern. “I don’t really know … what is mugwort used for?” She asks quietly. In her hand, she holds a cloth that had fallen out of the pocket of Rosalie’s coat.

Jasper puts aside his embarrassment, but immediately he frowns. “What on earth happened to your arm?” He asks instead, taking her wrist and looking at the angry nail-marks.

“She was in pain.” Alice answers, looking down at the red welts with no concern. “They’ll be gone by morning; who hasn’t had worse?” She holds the little bag out to him.

Jasper doesn’t take it, and he shrugs one shoulder. “Your mother never told you?” He asks, and Alice stays patiently silent. “Mine own never abided herbs. It’s for woman’s troubles, I believe.”

“Troubling it is.” Alice agrees, as they watch Emmett sit dutifully on the floor, right outside of the guestroom door. She doesn’t look at him for fear of bringing attention to the fact he keeps a loose grip on her arm, thumb rubbing idle circles into her skin. It makes her blush when she asks him; “Did you like _your_ mother?”

Jasper feels that familial crawl under his skin and imagines the ruined side of his face itches. “Well enough. She didn’t want me to enlist; much too young.” He admits, soft voice for the tender subject. “My hometown was naught but ghosts when I tried to go back. I don’t know where they are.” He felt all the heavier for having revealed himself, and clears his throat, presses her little white hand. “What of my mother-in-law?”

Alice hummed, as though caught in her own mind. “She would have liked you, or at least I like to think so.” Alice said confidently, one forceful nod. “I can think however I please to, she’s very dead. Yes, I’ve decided she would have thought you were _wonderful_.” The last word was reverent. Jasper looked into her big shining eyes, so easy, so open, and sways down towards her face. Their noses brushed and when their lips met was a kind of mundane magic.

Alice trills as he kisses her the first time and is quick to run a hand along his jaw when he presses in with a second. By the third Jasper has both hands cupping her face. Her eyes close in her bliss, but she allowed one moment to look at him, his furrowed brows and drawn-down cheeks; as though each gentle touch hurt in its exquisite affection. She could have laughed as her eyes slid shut again. If she could manage anything but kissing him, by the fourth, by the fifth. For how could anything hurt between them?

He pulls away slow; keeping Alice from following him. her lips still pursed, by pinching both cheeks. His gaze slides to their guest – Emmett is all but pressed up against the door; doubtlessly doing his very best to be ignored.

It makes Alice giggle; at how delicately embarrassed her husband seemed. Jasper stands, leaning heavily on his one unfailing leg. “… I’ll, erm, tune the radio.” He mutters, but Alice only hums, one long, high note, happier than she had any right to be.

 

Rosalie kept herself firmly in her room until she felt much more able to wear a skirt without leaving a blood trail. Her empty belly moves her from her room.

Emmett sits at the very entrance; so close his toes must have been against the door. He stumbles up quickly, Rosalie watches the shower of wood chips from his whittling fall to the floor.

“Are you alright?” He asks her as he hurries to stuff the knife into its sheath and in his pocket at the same time.

Rosalie inclines her head. “Much better. You didn’t have to wait right out the door.” She tells him and doesn’t mind the big hands that take her forearms and his eyes looking about her face carefully.

“It’s much too personal in the living room.” Emmett says, and a little grin flits back onto his face. Rosalie glances past his shoulder. The Whitlocks sit, and they’re listening to a radio show. “I just wanted to stay and make sure you’re better.” He says quietly.

He squeezes her arms once before releasing her, stepping away.

Rosalie feels a pull in her gut. “Stay with me.” She says before she fully knows it. His face goes from shock to happiness, and Rosalie feels her illness tug back at her insides. _Not like that, not at all._ “I can’t, I mean to say that I don’t want anything-”

But Emmett’s hands are bigger than that King’s ever were, and only ever gentle. They take her hands this time, and she looks into his gently smiling face. In the low lamplight Rosalie knows why so many Great Masters were commissioned to adorn churches with the pictures of angels. His voice is barely a whisper; “I’ll be good, please let me stay.”

Rosalie found herself saying; “You are good.” As she lets him inside.

 

Alice watches a little as Emmett steps into the guest room, and the door closes. She’s not worried; she knows nothing will occur tonight. Looking over at Jasper, and his slack, slow blinks, she knows nothing _at all_ will happen tonight. But this will be the first night she sleeps with her husband; even if it’s bundled on the couch, and they’ll wake in the morning with sore necks and backs and rumpled clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone wishing me well; I have a couple weeks-long headcold and it was getting to me. I always thought Edward the super virg would be a hilarious dynamic to Emmett's pure fun-loving, and Jasper's incredible penchant for violence.


	21. Tea Time Again

Bella was getting slightly depressed. It turned out that the bakery was not at all well-kept and repairing it had taken its toll. She had next to nothing left in her savings from ferrying the girls here. She was beginning to suspect that perhaps she should have just bought her ticket home.

It didn’t help matters that she was now inclined to be a little less friendly with the neighbourhood. The supposed dinner offer had gone so spectacularly. Bella had felt embarrassed, once at Michael’s pathetic attempt, and another at the resulting chaos.

Most of all, she felt duped. Lauren had after all written ‘please call upon my house at dinner’ not at all telling of her own presence. Michael had not been at all lecherous. Bella had, with a sinking feeling, seen a pile of wrapped peonies in a pretty ribbon and quickly realised this was a ploy, but hardly a dangerous one.

It’s not too difficult to surmise that having any sweet actions fail with his own wife, a young man was inclined to try elsewhere. Lauren had all but arranged it, and Bella wasn’t about to pontificate on the moralities of the townsfolk; certainly not with the one certain booming industry at night.

In fact, Bella had figured all this information so quick she felt a little too feeling to outright reject the man, he certainly wasn’t a threat, but it was certainly a lost cause. She’d been more than glad for Edward’s interference; it was, in a little ridiculous way, a bit gallant. And it did get her out of an excruciating dinner. Bella had reminded herself of the dignity in leaving when she had gone to bed hungry that night.

 

It was the following Sunday that Bella realised that there was a certain _group_ that had formed. As Esme and Alice bonded so easily on the train, and Rosalie seemed to tolerate the two more than most; the latter two’s husbands had also seemed to get along well.

Dr. Cullen had a long-standing invitation held to Mr and Mrs McCarty and Mr and Mrs Whitlock, to attend a Sunday luncheon hosted by Esme. As it was held in their house, Edward was no doubt in attendance. Bella had been slightly surprised he was still a bachelor and was loathed to offer her matchmaking services lest that exclude her from the running.

He was impressed, it seemed, that Bella had made such a long trip with no husband for herself. She made sure to tell him, as attractively as possible, that while the letters were for her girls, a husband was not out of the question yet.

 

Bella was invited to take tea with Esme, and she gratefully took up the offer. This could be the start of a lovely friendship, and her purse could stand to see her eat somewhere else. She went to the Cullen house, and was greeted cheerlessly by Edward, looking very respectable.

“Hello,” He steps to the side, and she walks to the parlour. She was a little off put by his sombre, withdrawn attitude. It was empty; though there were some tea things set out.

“Is Esme coming soon?” Bella asked, mentioning vaguely further into the house. Edward just glances out the window, then his gaze bounces to the doorway and he look nervous.

“Well, actually, something happened and I’m not too sure the cause ….” Edward explained, looking very concerned when there was loud yelling and Esme’s trying to yell louder over it.

Bella was alarmed, and she headed to the back door. Though Edward tried to have her stay in the parlour, a true gentleman, she insisted on investigating the commotion.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with!” Edward told her as he followed her through the house to the kitchen, the source of the racket.

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you!” Bella replied over her shoulder and opened the door to the kitchen.

A man was laid on the floor, biting a piece of cloth to stifle his screams. His leg was mangled, and there was an awful lot of blood. Bella felt dizzy at the sight; she never did fare well with blood. The nausea swoops through her belly and causes her mouth to water badly.

Carlisle was leant over him, inspecting the leg. “His horse threw him,” Carlisle barked, his tone hard and fast as he mentioned to his assistant. “Esme, the gauze, hurry,” he glances up and sees the people in the doorway, his expression morphing to surprise. “– Bella! This is no place for you!” He snaps.

Bella pointed to Esme as she hands a roll of bandages. “Esme’s here!” She argues. Though she did feel like vomiting.

Esme glances at her with disinterest. “I’m the nurse, dear,” she reminded her sternly. “ _You_ are getting in the way.” She replied, and Bella felt a little hurt at the brush-off, though she was rapidly feeling very ill. _The blood …_

Esme leans over the boy’s face and waits for his attention. “Now Jacob, we’re going to set your hip, but if there’s even a _touch_ thing wrong, you’d rather lose the leg than your life, hm?”

At her words, the boy -for his face is young and bloodstaine- begins to struggle in earnest, eyes wide with panic. She tries to stop him, but Edward steps forward quickly, past Bella, while shedding his coat and rolling up his sleeves.

“Bella, please, stay outside.” He tells her sternly, and she watches the flex of his forearms as he moves. “Let me help.” He tells Esme. He takes the boy on the table by the shoulders, and leans close to his face, eyes beseeching.

“It’s going to be alright,” he says softly, and so close, the boy stills, mostly. He reaches down and takes one of the boy’s hands in his, wrapping his long white fingers over the boy’s brown palm. “do you understand?” he asks softly. _Intimately_ , Bella thinks.

The boy spits his gag. “I can hear you, release my hand, dolt!” He snaps, detangling Edward enough to shove his gag back in and shoot him an extremely annoyed look.

Edward looks taken aback for a moment, and Bella nearly laughs at him. She was beginning to realise her attentions may need to be placed elsewhere. She also knew she needed to place _herself_ elsewhere, before the gore made her sick. The metallic scent was already causing bile to burn her throat.

He seems to remember she’s in the doorway, and quickly turns towards her, hurriedly picking up his discarded coat and ushering her out, back to the parlour.

In the lounge, they sit again, but Edward is distracted, his gaze elsewhere, only grunting to her queries. After a minute, she concedes. “Perhaps I’ll go for some fresh air?” She suggests, and Edward looks surprised, as though just noticing her pale face and heavy breathing.

He offers to accompany her; but she assures him she’ll not go far. She steps out with some relief; she doesn’t want any witness if she _does_ retch.

 

Esme and Carlisle have the boy sleeping and relatively stable. Bella was patting her own face with a hanky she’d wet at the water pump and takes a moment to breathe in the crisp green air outside. It was helping, being outside and staring at the trees. Such a densely green place; Bella thought it was growing on her.

Coincidentally; it was also growing on this house. Bella did not truly understand how precocious plants could be until she saw how often, from the buildings to the fenceposts; moss and small vines clung with the tenacity of little green fingers saying ‘you’re new and you’re mine’.

She hears the footsteps through the nearby window and knows she should make her way in too, but her own wooziness keeps her rooted.

“He’ll be alright?” Edward’s voice is tight with something unspoken, it cracks on his next words. “Thank _goodness_. I thought he knew better than to rush when he’s late to see me!” The boy protests.

Not more than ever, Bella feels the need to announce herself, but she’s too late to be polite to do so. She freezes and hopes none of them glance through the window and discover her.

“Edward, come calmly.” Carlisle says, “Jacob is fine now, and I doubt his horse threw him for rushing,”

But Edward seemed insistent on coming very uncalmly. There was dire agitation in his words; “If anything happens to him!”

Esme gave a humming sound, that elicited from the others complete silence. “Edward, is this Jacob a very … close friend of yours?” Her tone was both curious and confused, and there was a muffled thump of a chair being heavily sat on.

Bella itched with her own curiously, it made the hairs on the back of her neck stick up. Carefully, knowing full well of all the privacy she was encroaching on the window and using the clinging leaves as cover.

She glances in. Edward sits with his head in his hands. Seeing only his trembling hands and hunched back, he seems young, Bella wasn’t comfortable thinking of him so young, as it made her feel so very old. Carlisle stands next to the chair, looking with something like sorrow at Esme. She who stands alone on the rug, confused and, Bella thinks, seeming very lonely.

“Yes, we are very close.” Edward’s voice is soft and cautious, and his hands falls limply. “He comes to see me every Sunday morning, when we’re alone. It’s why I don’t go to church.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Bella finds herself holding her breath, watching Esme blink in surprise, as Carlisle petted Edward’s defeated shoulder.

Esme pulls in a deep breath, her chest opening as she straightens up, and she smiles so gently. “I see!” She says, bringing her hands together. “Oh, well, no wonder you would have wished me to go so early!” She says and walks over to take up on of Edward’s limp hands and pet it as though to rouse movement.

Carlisle seems gripped with another concern entirely. “Oh, is it too early for you, Esme?” He asks, brow furrowed as Edward lifts his head and lets Esme fiddle with his rolled-up sleeve.

Esme only laughs. “It’s fine, really!” She assured him, as Edward finally takes to his feet and brushes off their concerned hands.

Carlisle ducks his head, his face close to Edward’s as he says gently; “… Perhaps you can come next week.”

But Edward is up and striding to the other side of the room. “No, _no_ , Carlisle,” Edward snaps, forceful and reproachful. “if God believes me damned why should I entreat him?”

It’s a firm face and tone that replies; “Because I don’t want you alone with your thoughts while Jacob heals.”

“He’ll need me!” Edward argues, his reproach melting to petulance. “I shan’t go!” He storms out of the room, and Bella freezes, hoping he’d very much not go to stalk off his mood outside and discover her.

Esme stood next to Carlisle, looking of all things fond. “Carlisle, Edward should stay here.” She told him. “God does not count those dragged kicking and screaming as devout, surely.” She reminds him, looking out the open door after Edward.

Esme doesn’t see Carlisle’s gaze on her, Bella does. “… I suppose you’re right.” He relents, and she nods in satisfaction.

There’s something so tender in the room that finally, in her own solitude, the thought ‘ _I should go’_ flickers in Bella’s mind. She’s surely been rude enough, and they don’t miss her.

Bella takes up her damp hanky and picks her way to the motel. Thoughts on how being the sole library in a small town was a lonely thing to be.

 

Esme takes Carlisle’s arm and leads him into the tearoom. She’s sure they lost Bella quite quickly after the poor woman became white and sweated profusely at the sight of all that blood.

Esme intends to fix the cups herself, but Carlisle’s restlessness prompts him to ask her to sit and begin to busy himself with the cups. Esme does so, quiet in her realisation that she couldn’t precisely recall the last time a man had made her a cup of tea.

In the silence; Carlisle carried on his explanation with warmth, and some feeling; “He’s a good man; I knew him from his piano recitals at parties his parents took him too. After they died, he had an incident in a pub …” Carlisle hands over the cup and take in a few deep breaths.

“They beat him very badly, when I offered to adopt him,” He chuckles darkly, recalling fond memories in dire times, “he might have already been seventeen, but he accepted immediately. He was lonely, I think, for _fatherly_ affection.” Carlisle tells her carefully, though his lips were quirked up.

It embarrasses Esme, a little; obviously her initial puzzling over their relationship did catch Carlisle’s attention. But she smiles at him, and his grey eyes are warm. “Of course.”

 

Bella asks after the boy, Jacob, after the service. Esme had explained to her that Edward had skipped mass to look after him.

In pastor mode, the Pastor Cullen chuckles a little. “Jacob Black; he comes into trade and bargain quite often.” Carlisle explains, “He’s a good young man, not yet nineteen, if you’d believe it.” He looks tenderly in Esme’s direction, “he’s not the best bedridden thing; Esme’s confident with all his cheek he’s surely to be well soon enough without her help.” He laughs lightly at that, and Bella smiles too. Even if the patient was putting up some difficulties, they both knew Esme would see him though.

“Edward’s taken to playing nursemaid, actually.” He says, and laughs again, though this time Bella can’t quite manage it. “I think they may just fight more than Rosalie and he.” He says.

Bella feels that pang again, of that special group. She waves them off, though, as they depart for Sunday lunch.

“Oh Bella, don’t be sil!” Alice giggled as she looped her arm through Bella’s, “Come on,” she tugs her forward, and Bella happily joins them.

The lunch was excellent, and the company more than satisfying too. Emmett was boisterous, and slightly unmannered, but he put his cup down when Rosalie told him to, lest he spill, and dutifully chewed each bite of food before speaking. It seemed that while he was unlikely to ever be a gentleman; Rosalie would see a husband carved out of him, yet.

Jasper was quiet and attentive. Bella considered Alice and Jasper’s match her biggest success, it was obvious the little woman adored him. Carefully sat close to each other; and Bella was sure she was the only one looking closely enough to see how Jasper watched her; as though his every attention was focused on her alone.

It reminded her of a fragment she’d read from the lady-loving Greek;

 _And all the wrong he did before, loose it,_  
make him a joy to all his friends,  
a pain to his enemies and let there exist for us  
not one single further sorrow

Esme and Carlisle were discussing the next shipment of supplies for the clinic, but Bella didn’t miss the way she made sure that his teacup was always full, and how he would pluck finger sandwiches to lay on a napkin on her armrest.

She felt a little alone, as the couples coupled off, and glanced around for Edward. Excusing herself, she leaves the room, and hears a soft, deep laugh.

Following it, she ends up at the door of the guest room, half open.

Edward sat on the foot of the bed, where Jacob is tucked under the covers tightly, sitting with his long legs spread straight.

Edward was grinning madly at a tiny chess board in between them. “Serves you right!” Edward exclaimed with no small amount of satisfaction. “You may _claim_ to best me in archery, but I can _prove_ that I can best you at chess!”  He added, looking boyish and pleased.

Jacob leaned forward, scowling heavily, which looked strangely strange on his brown face; as though he was much more used to smiling. “Let me out of this bed and I’ll show you how good I am with a bow, nurse!” Jacob declared, sounding huffy but with no real anger.

 “No, winner picks the prize!” Edward said lightly. “You’re not to remove yourself from that bed until Esme changes your bandages after tea.” He decided, and he only looked even more pleased. Edward stood from the bed, and Bella jerked back from the door, hoping she hadn’t been caught peeking.

But Edward only moves the chess board from the bed to the stout table beside it and sits at Jacob’s hip. “In bed until tea?” Jacob asks, looking now very sorry. “What if I must _relieve_ myself?” He whines.

Edward’s grin turns predatory, and suddenly Jacob isn’t sulking, but beginning to smile himself. “I can help with that ….” He says softly and puts his face extremely close to Jacob’s ….

Bella steps away from the door, sure her cheeks were scarlet, and flees back to the parlour as quickly as she could.

 

Alice and Rosalie walk, arm-in-arm, tightly around the garden. Rosalie had requested a short turn about the house and assured them all only Alice need accompany her.

Alice was struggling to keep up; Rosalie’s considerable height and tight grip all but dragged the little woman along with her. Esme stepped outside and sat at the porch steps, nursing her tea, watching them and Rosalie’s obvious agitation.

Alice puffs a little from the trotting it took to keep up with Rosalie’s pacing. “It’s a miserable little day today!” She declares, watching Rosalie for signs that she was listening.

“He told me he loves me.” She hisses conspiringly. “He built me the witch’s hat, because he loves me.” Rosalie added as she marches past Esme.

Esme’s mouth thins at the words, and her tone is careful; “Sweet of him to say.”

“Oh, Rosie, I’m so happy for you!” Alice looks over-joyed, and starts to skip, another easy way to match Rosalie’s pace. “It’s wonderful,” she watches Rosie’s stormy expression with growing doubt and glances to Esme uncertainly. “Isn’t it wonderful?” She questions.

“He doesn’t know what it means.” Rosalie spits, her vitriol making Alice falls into giggles.

“Harsh by far!” She argues cheerfully.

“He doesn’t!” Rosalie insists, looking wretched. “The only women he knows are his family! How am I supposed to believe him; he doesn’t know _me_!” She says, looking at the windows as though she expects to be overheard.

“Well maybe you should teach him.” Esme replies levelly.

But Rosalie wasn’t listening, consumed by her own troubles. “If he finds out …”

“About the mugwort?” Alice asks, and Rosalie stops dead, yanking Alice by her joined arms. Rosalie stares at her in mounting horror, but Alice is quick to explain. “I was hunting through Carlisle’s medical books, but I found it on one of Esme’s herb glossaries.”

Rosalie looks between the two of them; the women who have made it so far with her, and now looks at her with something warmer than any female friend or relative would have. “… I’m _used_.” She mutters, ashamed.

Esme hums. “You’re used to a certain lifestyle and used to certain men treating you a certain way.” Esme says, her tone measured but not cold. Firm but not stern. “You’re not used to men like Emmett. You’re not _used_ to him.”

Rosalie crouches at Esme’s feet on the step, and she looks so furtive that Alice is quick to copy her. They make a strangely furtive assemblage. “I can barely stand it. He asks me how I feel and how I think.” She explains resentfully. Alice looks at her with wide eyes and no comprehension. Esme only watches. “I had a perfect routine for a socialite, I knew exactly how to be engaging and delightful. Oh, I have feelings, and I think, but that’s something I keep to myself, just like my mother taught me. She always said, ‘ _hungry women only starve’_.” She growls.

Esme nods slowly; she had a mother who had thought just the same, though not with such pretty words. _Good girls don’t make a fuss._ But Alice stands up with the pleasant disregard of a woman whose hunger has been the reason she’d gotten anything at all. “Oh, do you want a tea cake, Rosie?” Alice offers. “I will get you one.” She continued blithely and skips inside before anyone answer.

Esme sips her tea and lets out a little sigh. “This place is … trying to eat.” Esme begins, as Rosalie choose to sit on Esme’s shoes than on the dirt. “Trying to consume a forest that has been here an age before us. It takes a hunger to make it.”

To that, Rosalie looks out at the forest and says nothing at all. The backdoor creaks and Alice steps out with hands full. “I lied. I bought four tea cakes!” She tells them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One pet peeve is how Bella feels woozy all but once at the sight of blood and then it never happens again. I write out of order, and this was one of the first real scenes I had after they'd written their letters. Actually, the story might still be out of order we'll see.  
> The poet is Sappho, from _If Not, Winter ___


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